Long Road to Ruin
by CircuitousWays
Summary: The Courier decides to make a play for New Vegas, but she's not the only one back from the dead. What happens when the past takes a seat at The Tops and the road ahead suddenly becomes unclear? Friends become foes and a choice between love and duty must be made. In the Mojave, even the best find themselves playing dice with death.
1. May 22-23, 2281

**Rated M for violence, sex, drugs** **, suicidal ideation, and language. These are adults doing adult things.**

* * *

It's no mystery, what can I say, we're blind by design  
And history keeps getting paid to change its mind  
Some wounds will never mend  
\- Sin Shake Sin, "Can't Go to Hell"

Jordan softly closed the door of the motel room and paused. Her eyes lingered on the worn handle as she rested her forehead against the pocked metal door, the stale scent of cigarettes, sweat, and 200-year old wallpaper filling her nostrils. Hearing a dry cough drift out of the bathroom, she turned in time to see Boone exiting the small room. He was high. Again.

She allowed herself a small sigh. This had to stop. "Boone, we need to talk," she said gently, pushing herself away from the door.

He paused and adjusted his beret, a nervous tick she had noticed in the last three months "What's up?" His voice was gruff, made worse from the jet he'd just finished inhaling.

Jordan took a deep breath and quickly let it out, willing it to take her nerves with it. _Now or never,_ she thought. "I'm leaving. First thing in the morning."

Her admission, firm in its tenor and its meaning undeniable even absent the "without you," took Boone by surprise. He shifted on his feet, his combat boots suddenly feeling like they were made of lead and concrete. It took him a moment to find which of the Five W's he was supposed to use. The jet made everything hum, but it always made his mind scattered. It's why he liked it – couldn't focus long enough to remember _her_ or _what was lost_.

"Why?" he asked finally, his voice barely registering the confusion that was supposed to accompany the question.

She studied him for a moment, her face impassive. His wheaten hair needed to be buzzed again and he was sporting a heavy five o'clock shadow. His blue eyes were dull and red-rimmed, though she imagined that on a healthy, sober Boone they would be vibrant and a shade similar to gunmetal. She didn't know what that looked like, though. "You need help and I can't be it for you."

Boone traced the words in his mind. He didn't need help, he just needed her company and the multitude of distractions that came with it. Working up to a response, he began to open to his mouth.

"We've been here three days and you haven't showered once. You're also too high to form a solid argument right now," she cut in. She shook her head in dismay before striding across the thin and stained carpet. She thought the splotches might have been blood at one time. Hard to tell anymore. Standing before him, she could smell the undertones of whisky that lingered there on his breath. "I thought that all you needed was support in a dark time and maybe a nudge in the right direction. I thought getting out of here for a while and giving you something to do would help, but I was wrong. About all of it. You're only getting worse and I can't stick around for this. I'm suffocating. You need help, Boone. From a professional."

Boone took a few steps back, running his hand along his jaw - another tick. He had to focus, to do something to convince her to stay. The idea of being left alone again felt like having his feet ripped out from under him.

Jordan watched as Boone's eye darted about. She knew what he was going to ask of her, what he was going to try to do. She had no intention of staying. She knew she could be branded a horrible human being for leaving him in the Dino Dee-Lite Motel while she went on about her life, but she truly was suffocating under the weight of his obsessions – Legion, whisky, cigarettes, revenge, and illegal chems. If she stayed much longer, she'd start drinking in an effort to outrun his demons. She had tried to convince him to seek treatment before, taking him with her on trips to see the Followers and visits with Dr. Usanagi, but he ignored her requests and hints. This was it and she was done. If he didn't want help, she wasn't going to commit a slow suicide trying to make him. She had other, more useful, ways of getting herself killed.

"Make love to me," Boone finally whispered. With the jet fully in his system, his eyes were now dilated, leaving only the slightest ring of his iris exposed. The words from his mouth didn't pair well with the augmentation of his pupils and it left an unsettled feeling in Jordan's chest.

"We don't make love, Boone." It was true. Despite caring for him as a person, she wasn't emotionally invested in their non-relationship any more than he was. He was her partner and a modest lay, but she had not given him her heart. Only one man had ever laid claim to it and he wasn't there anymore. Hadn't been in ten years. "But if you want goodbye sex, we can do that."

/

The breeze was cool and its direction favorable as Vulpes climbed the deteriorating ladder of the water tower. In twenty minute's time two recruits would carry out his grand plan for Camp Searchlight and the Frumentarii leader wanted an adequate view. Reaching the top, he hoisted his body onto the walkway and slunk around the edge until he came to his desired spot. From there, with his binoculars, he could watch the entire scene unfurl to his satisfaction.

As he monitored the movements of troops from the New California Republic below, he hoped he had selected the right recruits as his sacrificial lambs. They were, in effect, nobodies, not graced with any particular skills or talents that would bring the Legion any calculable glory. They would not be missed, but could pave the way for others to bring fear into the mental collective of the Mojave. Fear of death was a non-factor, as they had no idea of the radioactive sludge in the barrels they were to open. Getting caught by the NCR, on the other hand, would derail everything, upending months of planning as well as his own future.

Vulpes had ascended to the top of the Frumentarii two years ago and had since been growing the Legion's network of spies, strengthening and expanding on his predecessor's shaky framework. Searchlight was to be his first major covert operation as a strategist. Success would cement his position as one of Caesar's most trusted. Failure would make him the next Burned Man.

As he caught sight of two shadows moving in from the west, Vulpes felt the wind shift. Dismay surged through him when he realized the current would not change again in time, thus forcing him to abandon his perch. As he shuffled back down the ladder, he began to hear shouts rising from deep within the camp. He smirked to himself and, sparing one last look over his shoulder, strolled back off into the night. The recruits had done their job. Cottonwood Cove would be overflowing with the Legion by morning.

/

Jordan moved around the room as softly as she could, though she wasn't certain why. After a night filled with sex, jet, and whisky, Boone wouldn't be awake until noon at the earliest. It was only dawn now.

Grabbing her rifle from the cabinet, she made one last sweep of the room. She didn't know when or if she'd be back, and she felt the resignation settle in her chest at the thought. She'd chosen to leave Boone in Novac, because despite a lack of qualified medical professionals, there were friends and people he knew there – people who would watch out for him. He'd probably hate her for it when he woke up, but that'd be his problem.

She tightened the knot in her bandana and closed the door to the motel room behind her. The air around her was crisp, and she found that it lifted her spirits, giving her an added sense of peace. The weather wasn't miserable yet, the sunrise was beautiful, and she had plenty of alone time ahead of her as she walked back to New Vegas.

Jordan smiled to herself. _It's going to be a good day_ , she thought. Positioning her sunglasses to rest on the top of her brow, she trotted down the stairs and into the wastes.

/

Vulpes exited Caesar's tent and smiled to himself, feeling a pair of eyes watching him go. She wouldn't be far behind him, probably spouting some excuse about needing the foricae. It was just as well. He needed to blow off some steam and loosen up muscles that were still carrying Searchlight's tension.

Strolling into his tent, Vulpes deposited his Ripper and vexillarius helmet onto the top of his bookshelf, not bothering to smooth out the cropped obsidian layers atop his head. Moving to his desk, he began to go through the messages and reports that had come in overnight, one in particular catching his attention. He would need to make a trip to New Vegas soon. Alerio had sent word that a family on the Strip was interested in an alliance and it had been a few weeks since Mr. Fox had made an appearance in those hallowed halls of iniquity. What a perfect opportunity.

Vulpes heard the din of noise rise and fall, indicating that someone had passed through the flap of his tent. It wasn't until he heard the sound of slave rags hitting the dirt that he took the trouble to reroute his gaze. Seeing his guest stand nude before him, her carob tresses swept back to ensure an unobstructed view of her breasts, he gave a salacious smirk in greeting and stood from his desk.

The young woman glided forward, a grin of her own in reply. Pressing herself against him, she reached for his lips.

"Ah, ah, ah," he reprimanded, finger wagging in her face.

She pouted. "Why won't you ever kiss me?"

"That is for me to know, and you to…not," he sang, making of a show of choosing his insult. "Now lean over the desk."

/

"Christ," Boone groaned. Were his brains leaking onto the pillow? It had been a long time since he'd had a hangover like this. He slid his hands across the mattress, feeling for his partner. It was cold, as if she hadn't been there for hours.

He cracked one eye open and peered around the room. Daylight. Quiet. Lonely bed. "Jordan?"

Greeted by silence, he grunted. She was probably helping someone with something or maybe hanging out at the gift shop with Cliff. Typical. His thoughts drifted to the first time he'd woken up alone after Carla.

 _Carla_.

If she could see him now. _You're a mess_ , she would say. _Stop it. Get it together._

Boone slowly lifted himself up and scooted to the edge of the bed. A bottle of vodka sat on the bedside table, grabbing his attention. It was half empty. Wouldn't take long to finish off.

He was a few sips in when he finally began to survey the room. Dust drifted lazily through the air, waltzing in and out of the sunlight peeking through the window. Trash was piled to nearly overflowing in the can by the bathroom. His pack crumpled against the cabinet beside him.

Not a single thing of Jordan's was in sight.

Boone stood slowly, appraising every item his eyes landed on. His. His. Came with the room. His.

He limped to the bathroom. All his.

Jordan was gone. She wasn't coming back for him.

"Goddamn it!" he roared, bottle shattering against the bathroom wall. Blindly grabbing items off the shelf beside him, Boone's rage went airborne, ripping through dusty air as though it could bring her back. He didn't care, or perhaps even realize, that his friends could hear the onslaught from outside and knew. Jordan had warned them he would implode.

Tipping the shelves beside him, they gave way and met the floor with a shrieking thud. The knee-jerk reaction was slipping away from him, a biting loneliness creeping in to take its place. Maybe they would tell him where she went.

 _Or maybe you should drop her like a bad habit, just like she did to you,_ he chided himself.

Boone shook his head. Jordan was the best thing to happen to him since Carla. He could get a decent stash built up, get things under control, and go find her. She wouldn't have to know he was still using.

 _She'll know. Smart like that._

Shuffling into the bathroom, Boone stood at the sink and eyed himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. _No wonder she left, you idiot._ A shower would go a long way in clearing his head and he could clean up the room afterward. Or he could just drink some more. Drinking was preferable.

Turning towards the shower, he heard the crunch before he felt the pain. The vodka bottle from moments earlier had made its way into his foot. Boone cried out and stumbled backward, landing hard on the tile floor.

"Goddamn it," he grumbled.

He shifted himself around, trying to examine his foot without cutting himself further, but was distracted by a glint of garnet. There, on the floor behind the toilet, was a forgotten dose of jet. It called to him as easily and carefree as a siren.

 _Wouldn't hurt._

* * *

A/N: And there we have it, after FF changing my formatting three times. Future chapters won't be quite so scattered, you have my word. Also, the foricae were the public multi-seater toilets used by the Romans. The more you know ;) See you next weekend!

PS - This is being hosted on my AO3 account, too, under the same name.


	2. May 28, 2281

Selling water, drinking wine  
You can't trust everyone all the time  
And it's hard to tell, it's hard to tell  
When devils look like angels  
And angels look like hell  
\- Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band, "Devils Look Like Angels"

Cass was never quite sure what to make of Jordan. She'd known the woman for months now, having gone on a number of adventures together, some with purpose, some without. The woman had even gone so far as to help shut down McLafferty's designs for an economic monopoly in the Mojave. Yet aside from a handful of personality traits, Cass knew next to nothing about her.

For weeks Cass had been okay with knowing nothing more than her partner's first name and that they were guaranteed to paint the town a literal shade of red whenever they went out. As time passed, however, she had begun to find it a bit unsettling. She'd started asking questions about Jordan's life before New Vegas, about her relationship with Boone, about anything she could think of. To her chagrin, her questions were often deflected or simply left unanswered. That she was experiencing an insatiable curiosity about someone at all also bothered her.

At the moment, though, Jordan was choosing to respond to her inquiries.

"So he'd started using jet?" the former merchant asked, squeezing off another round. A chunk of skullcap from the leafy green humanoid ahead of her landed on the overturned filing cabinet behind it.

Jordan inched forward, her 10mm submachine gun at the ready. "Yep."

"Damn. I had no idea. And you slept with him before you left?" There was a hint of disbelief in her voice. She understood drunken tumbles – did that often enough herself – but knocking boots while high as a kite? Fiends did that, not retired NCR snipers. Or so she had thought.

Jordan's SMG fired off several rounds into the spore carrier approaching from her left. The thing was hideous and she wondered about their natural, non-cranially perforated shelf life. Were some of these things the original vault dwellers? "Felt sorry for him," she admitted.

"Huh," Cass grunted. "This Keely person had better not be dead. This place gives me the fucking creeps."

Jordan simply nodded in response. They'd been in Vault 22 for hours, killing anything green that moved, and were not even halfway through the place. Nearly every mound of verdant foliage they came across had something hideous lurking underneath its gorgeous shade. Yet it was the emergency backup lighting and grimy walls that put her on edge the most, though she couldn't quite place why it was so disquieting to her.

"Hey," Cass called out to her, "when we get done with this shit, can we please go to the bathhouse at the Ultra Luxe? I'm going to need a fucking break."

/

Vulpes ambled down the steps of Nipton's town hall, a disarming smile on his face despite the discomfort of his suit and tie. Mayor Steyn rambled gleefully beside him, spouting off a list of ideas for future dealings with his new colleague.

"We can set you boys up real nice," he beamed. The sun was shining brilliantly in the afternoon heat and sweat from the mayor's balding crown trickled down into the remaining hair of his lower head. Something in his face, perhaps his narrow eyes or wide, thin lips reminded Vulpes of the Omertas. He hated the Omertas.

"So, whaddaya say, Mr. Fox? Want to have a go with Sylvia? She's my best girl." Steyn was leaning towards the Legionary conspiratorially, a mischievous grin on his face.

Vulpes looked around the town for a moment, considering the offer. He had seen the prostitutes of Nipton and wanted no part of what the drug-addled harlots had to offer. What he could always use, though, was information and prostitutes always had that for days.

Seeing the enigmatic Legionary mull the idea over, Steyn took a good look at him. He'd been startled by the young man's sharp features in the dim light of his office, but out in the sun, Mr. Fox looked every bit his namesake. The mayor had no doubt that women threw themselves at the man and if Steyn were to swing that way, he would, too, without question. In fact, get him drunk enough and he was certain he'd go for a tumble with the Legionary. Might not even take that now that he was thinking on it.

"It's on the house," the mayor said, nudging Mr. Fox in his side. Maybe he could join them, show the Legion boy how to really have some fun. A new position flashed through his mind. Getting fucked while fucking. It gave him a silent thrill.

Vulpes looked back down at Steyn, feeling the man's gaze linger a bit longer than it should have. He'd be relieved when he made this town atone for its sins and washed his hands of it. He was still deciding which macabre fate would await the mayor when he extended his hand, an easygoing smile reappearing on his face. "Thank you, Mr. Steyn, but I am needed elsewhere. I do wonder, though, what you will do with your payment?"

Steyn chuckled and accepted Fox's hand. "I haven't decided yet, but I can guarantee you there'll be a string of soaking wet whores involved."

"Enjoy yourself, then." _You won't have much time to do so_ , Vulpes thought. "We'll be in touch."

Mayor Steyn watched the fox leave, strolling out of his town at a leisurely pace. If the Legion was filled with men like that one, he looked forward to his new overlords. For now, though, he was off to find an attractive young man to take with him to Sylvia's. He had a new itch he wanted to scratch.

/

"Crazy ass shit," Cass muttered.

Jordan kept her thoughts to herself, kicking a mossy arm out of her way as they weaved through the fifth floor. Keely and her infectious optimism had sent the duo to bomb a gas leak in an effort to kill off the poisonous spores that had turned the vault dwellers into something other than human. "Crazy ass shit," was an appropriate motto for the day.

Exiting one of the labs, Cass spotted a pair of vents at the far end of the hall and scrunched her nose. "Smells like fart down here."

"I thought that was you," Jordan smiled wryly.

"Sorry, traveling the Mojave don't exactly leave me smelling like a rose."

They paused in their banter at an intersection of hallways. To the right, another lab with a non-functioning door. Behind them, the vault's computer mainframe storage.

"This'll do," Jordan said, heading into the smaller room. Pulling a grenade from a pouch at her waist, she handed it off. "You throw, I'll hit the button."

"Why am I throwing? So if we die, it's my fault?"

Jordan smirked.

"You're fucked up." Cass waited for her friend's nod, a pale hand hovering over the door switch. "About to get loud."

With a swift jerk, the pin came loose and Cass sent the explosive sailing. Jordan's hand slammed onto the switch before she darted to the back of the room, Cass right behind her. Wedging themselves into a corner, Jordan dropped to the floor and covered her ears before reaching out and dragging her friend down with her. A moment later, the blast shook the steel walls around them and fire consumed the air outside their refuge.

Feeling the reverberations cease, the pair dropped their hands and moved to take stock of the hallway from the observation window. Cass chuckled nervously. "Why the hell do I follow you into things like this?"

/

Boone was three days into a bender when he stumbled into the vacant room above Manny's. He'd already gone through all of his stash, plus what he had bought off of the traveling merchant. He needed to restock if he wanted to keep this pity party going.

He knew he'd hit pay dirt as soon as he shut the door behind him. On the table by the couch were cigarettes and jet. The desk to his left held surgical tubing and an unused psycho container. Moving further into the room, two tanks of nitrous oxide and an inhalation mask stood by the bed. He'd had that once as a kid, remembered how much it felt like floating.

Almost two hours later, the former sniper sat exhaling cigarette smoke and staring at the dose of psycho from across the room. He'd never used anything with needles and the thought of giving it a try both thrilled and terrified him. The jet was already gone, as was an entire pack of cigarettes. He needed to slow down if he wanted to make this treasure chest last.

His hand twitched, reminding him that sobriety was looming in the distance. Maybe the other chems lying around the grimy room would keep him high longer than the jet usually did. Bloodshot eyes flicked to the gas tanks and an idea began to form. Summoning his courage, he ventured over to the desk, turning on the small banker's lamp perched on its corner before taking a hesitant seat.

Picking up the small pack, he examined its finer details. Plunger at the top, needle at the bottom, and an awkward, bulky casing to hold onto. When he flipped it over in his hands, he scoffed. A small stamp emblazoned the backside. Product of the Great Khans.

"Fucking figures," he grumbled, tossing it back onto the desk. Snatching the rubber tubing and tying it tightly around his arm, a bitter sneer crawled onto his features. Even if God or Whoever wanted to have a laugh at him, giving him chems made by the same people he'd slaughtered years before and whose deaths had eaten away at his spirit, it wasn't going to stop him. He was going to get high and he was going to fucking forget.

Boone flexed his hand a few times before sliding the syringe home. The release was almost instant, the chem flooding into his system like hounds at a Shady Sands racetrack. With a quick tug, he freed his arm from the tubing and hurried to the gas tanks. A small hiss whined, the nitrous oxide flowing through the mask and into the sniper's lungs.

Stretched out on the bed, Boone felt like he was positively soaring. Everything hummed, from his hair follicles to his bones. No wonder Fiends did this so often. After a few minutes, he could no longer feel the mattress underneath him and he certainly didn't notice the three figures breaking into the room. As they lifted and carried him out, he thought he might have truly been flying.

/

"Glad to see you two ladies again."

Jordan took the outstretched hand and smiled. "I've got some supplies for you."

"Great! Follow me. We'll put them in the office."

The pair trailed behind the mohawked Followers of the Apocalypse doctor, passing through a wooden door and into one of the Old Mormon Fort's corner towers. Navigating around the privacy curtains, Jordan dropped her pack onto the examination table and began to unload, passing off antibiotics, steroids, and addiction opioids for the doctor to put away.

"Julie, how is Rex doing?" she inquired.

The physician paused to look at her friend. "His condition is steadily getting worse," she replied, resuming her task. "I'd give him two to three months at most. The sooner you find a brain for Dr. Henry, the better."

Jordan nodded in contemplation. She'd been looking around during her travels, checking out various dogs that she thought might be beneficial to Rex. As of now, the list was narrowed down to four, possibly five. It was the killing of one dog for the sake of another that slowed her efforts the most, however. It was a rough pill to swallow.

Exiting the tower, the cyberdog in question came barreling towards the three women, eyes bright with excitement. It was Cass who was nearly tackled to the dirt, cursing and stumbling backward. "Damn. Didn't think you liked me this much," she exclaimed.

Realizing that it wasn't the right woman who had embraced him, Rex flailed, extricating himself from her arms before launching at the other redhead. In the midst of Jordan's laughter and affection, Cass mumbled, "I knew it."

On their way out, Jordan stopped at the security checkpoint to check in with Beatrix. As the aging ghoul laid out life advice that always made Cass feel like she'd found a kindred spirit, Jordan felt a small tug on her trousers. Two large eyes, shaggy brown hair, and a shy smile greeted her.

"Excuse me, Courier," the little girl said.

Jordan kneeled, softening her expression while Rex leaned against her. "What can I do for you?"

"What's your dog's name?"

"Rex. Would you like to pet him?"

The little girl beamed and clasped her hands together. "Oh, can I?"

Jordan turned to address her dog. "What do you say?"

Rex scooted forward, sitting before the girl and nudging her with his nose. "It's wet!" she giggled, throwing her slight arms around his neck.

"What's your name?"

"Alice," the girl squealed before consternation began creeping into her features. Still holding onto the cyberdog, she pointed to Jordan's shoulder. "What's that?"

Jordan took in her appearance. They had stopped by the Old Mormon Fort on their way back into town. Her pants were still splattered with blood and grime littered her arms, but it was a chunk of green flesh stuck to her pauldron that had caught the girl's attention.

"Damn it."


	3. June 2, 2281

On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man  
In a dusty black coat with a red right hand  
\- Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, "Red Right Hand"

Jordan waved goodbye to Ranger Station Charlie and headed up the hill to the south, following an old nameless highway. It was early morning and she was hoping to make it to Nipton by midday, leaving her with plenty of time to rest up and prepare. Her Pip-Boy had picked up a peculiar broadcast after returning from Vault 22 and it had piqued her interest. Leaving everyone in New Vegas, she had made it to Charlie the night before, bypassing Novac in hopes of avoiding Boone if he was still there. Having built a rapport with the Rangers stationed there over the last few months, they allowed her to stay the night at their outpost.

When she had heard the broadcast inviting listeners to a "midnight science fiction feature," Jordan had quickly decided on investigating. There would be no film, she knew, because the drive-in outside of Nipton was defunct and probably had been since the war. Veronica had asked her where she was going when she noticed the rucksack on her friend's back, but she had simply said "out" and disappeared into the elevator. As she much as she enjoyed spending time with her companions, she relished being alone as well. She couldn't be asked personal questions when it was just her and her shadow.

A sinking suspicion that her trip would not be going as planned began to take root when Jordan came down from the hills to find black smoke billowing up from Nipton. Slowing her pace, she pulled her sniper rifle to her front and paused a moment to survey the town from her scope. Looming in the distance she could make out what appeared to be a trash pile on fire in the middle of the road. Shifting winds brought faint traces of what she thought was roasting Brahmin. Community picnic, maybe? No, she knew Nipton better than that. The town's cohesiveness was built on a love of money, sex, and chems. They didn't do picnics and sock-hops.

Drawing nearer to the burning pile, she recognized the flag planted at its edge, a red field with golden fringe and matching bull. Legion. Jordan felt the familiar twinge of unease settle into her stomach, causing her to waver in place. As she shifted her weight onto her right leg and readjusted her rifle, bile began to clamber into her throat.

Turning south and bypassing the main drag completely was an option. She might be able to make camp in the ruins of the concession stand at the drive-in. No, if she remembered correctly, what was left of it would be useless. No shelter, no space, no concealment.

Jordan strained her ears for a moment, listening for anything that could sway her. Save for the crackling fire in front of her, there was only the wind rustling through bushes and crows gliding overhead. Perhaps the Legion had already left and she could still bunk down in the town for the night.

Deciding her best option was to get a better assessment of the situation, she checked her rounds and skirted the flames. Jordan did not necessarily consider herself to live in fear of the Legion, but rather in disgust. She had spent the majority of the last ten years staying ahead of them, taking the courier job as a means to do so. During the First Battle of Hoover Dam, she had been making a delivery in New Reno, returning to the Mojave only after news reached of the NCR's victory. She hated the Legion and everything it stood for. They were the reason she didn't like personal questions.

Rounding the corner heading towards Nipton Hall, Jordan abruptly found herself face-to-face with a frenzied Oliver Swanick.

/

Vulpes stood atop the town hall steps, wiping blood from his hand and watching with curiosity as the degenerate screamed into a newcomer's face. The woman stood her ground, tripping Swanick and forcing him onto his back before pulling a pistol on him. She was unyielding still when he shrieked once more before fleeing into the wastes.

Interesting.

The woman turned and made her way towards Vulpes and his men, slowing to a stop when she reached the third set of crucifixions. He decided it was best to approach her, knowing that the Swanick fool was too unreliable to spread the message he had been charged with. It was a shame, really. All that trouble of holding a lottery and the last man standing had been a raving lunatic. That was what happened when things were left to chance, though.

As he grew nearer, her scrutiny washed over him, as unrelenting as his own. "Don't worry, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by," he announced in a silken tone. "I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton, to memorize every detail. And then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caesar's Legion taught here, especially to any NCR troops you run across."

Vulpes studied the woman's features, waiting for a reaction to his words – fear, revulsion, anything. To his dismay her face was as set as stone. Deathclaws were more expressive than she currently was. Instead, her eyes, barely visible behind her sunglasses, scanned the scene behind him, taking in the piked skulls, burning bodies, and restless recruits.

"All right," she replied at last. The manner in which her tongue brushed against her lower lip as she thought gave the Frumentarius a hazy feeling of familiarity, one he had not felt in years. Surprising him further, the woman took several steps back before turning on her heel and proceeding to the now empty house at the end of the road, never the once looking back.

Watching her leave, Vulpes allowed his eyes to drift across her body. Her hourglass figure was complemented by pale skin and coppery hair that was luminescent in the midday sun, even pulled up into a messy bun and largely covered by a bandana as it was. Long legs had brought her near to his own height, coming up only a few inches short. He imagined that a slave collar would look quite pleasing on her slender neck, but the familiarity she had stirred in him left him at a loss. Who was this woman? And who was foolhardy enough to turn their back on the Legion?

"Crispus," he beckoned to one of his Legionaries. The man was young, but eager to distinguish himself.

"Yes, sir?"

A faint smile ghosted Vulpes's lips. "Stay behind and watch her. Report back to me by the end of the week."

/

"Oh, c'mon man. Fucking up my leg wasn't good enough for you? Now you gotta come back and harass me?" Boxcars whined. Crispus had forgotten that several of the others had dumped the Powder Ganger in the Trading Post after the conclusion of the lottery.

"Be quiet, profligate. I have no business with you." The Legionary was in need of binoculars. He had waited for the rest of his unit to leave before finding the store's rear entrance and had begun to rifle through its wares.

"Fuck you."

Rolling his eyes, Crispus left Boxcars to himself and climbed the stairs to the empty apartment above. Moving through the room, he found that most of what the former inhabitants had left was nothing more than trash. Empty milk containers, tin cans, and broken glass littered the kitchen while various papers were scattered about the rest of the living area.

"Faex," he muttered, slamming shut the last of the desk drawers. He had turned to lean against the desk, running a hand through his flaxen curls, when he saw it. A small tin box was hidden in the shadows of the apartment's lone bed. Crouching down, he pulled the container into the light and set it atop the mattress. It opened with a creak, revealing items that both pleased and horrified the Legionary.

Inside the box were the binoculars he had sought, as well as what appeared to be a metal sex toy. _These profligates are too fucking weird sometimes_ , he thought. He would have to take care not to bring the binoculars too close to his eyes. There was, however, an amusing idea beginning to take shape for the other object.

Leaving the tin and dildo on the bed, he climbed to the rooftop via the access panel in the bathroom and made himself comfortable near the edge. It wouldn't be long until nightfall and Crispus hoped the woman across the street would do something interesting.

/

Just as the last of the sun had slumped into the horizon, the door to the small home opened, the woman emerging at a quick pace. Crispus watched with alarm as she crossed the street and disappeared into the building he was currently hiding atop. Would the Powder Ganger give him away? He should have killed the degenerate and been done with it. He would remember that next time. If there was one.

Several minutes passed before the woman returned to her shelter. Perhaps the convict had kept his mouth shut. Maybe that angry and bitter personality wasn't just saved for Legionaries. As time inched closer to midnight, Crispus had begun to think the woman would be staying overnight when she appeared once more, her rucksack on her back and rifle at her side.

The Legionary observed her for a moment, keeping the binoculars as far from his face as he could. She headed west until she reached the edge of town, then turned south down the broken remnants of a road he had not noticed before. Deciding there would be enough distance for him to safely follow, Crispus scrambled down to the second floor apartment. He had nearly made it to the stairs when he remembered the tin box and turned back to grab the dildo.

"You take a fucking nap up there, man?" Boxcars called to him as he ran through the storefront.

Without breaking his stride, Crispus flung the sex toy at the Powder Ganger, noting with delight that it had connected with his nose. "Vale, profligate!" he barked with a laugh before disappearing out the door. _That should freak him out for a while._

Walking at a brisk pace, it did not take long for the woman to come into view once more. Tucking himself behind a dried up shrub, he peered through the binoculars and began to wonder if his commander's orders were to satisfy more than intelligence gathering. Not only was she headstrong, as she had demonstrated earlier in the day, but she was beautiful, a fact that could be easily noted even in the pale moonlight. A body like hers wasn't seen often in the wasteland, and that face, with its strong jaw and high cheek bones, was a perfect complement. Was Inculta looking to make her his slave? He was approaching 30 and had not married or taken a concubine. Surely Caesar would want his top Frumentarius to produce heirs?

An ache began to settle across Crispus's brow as he watched her. He was thinking and not truly paying attention what was happening in front of him. Giving himself a mental shake, he refocused on the task at hand. Thinking about Inculta's sex life would not gain the man's favor. Was that not the opportunity he had been given? To prove himself?

As the woman passed through the long forgotten outer limits of the drive-in, she took interest in what appeared to be a crashed satellite at its centers. She crouched to inspect it further, wiggling the solar arrays and brushing dirt away. After several moments, she stood and backed away, taking in the satellite in its entirety once more. Crispus wondered to himself if she would dismantle it for scrap. Some of its parts would doubtless fetch quite a few caps.

Both he and the woman were startled when a projection of an eye began moving erratically on the ancient movie screen. Regaining her composure, the woman turned back to the spacecraft, realizing that the projection was emanating from it. Moving closer to examine it, Crispus could see the fear take hold of her as an inexplicable blue orb enveloped her and the downed technology.

Springing to his feet, he made a mad dash towards her, his feet pounding along the fractured pavement. His need to maintain concealment forgotten in favor of her safety, he cleared the shell of a rusted car and drew his machete. There was no way of knowing if his weapon would do any good against the blue wall, but he had to try something. It was at that moment the woman turned and saw him, her eyes wide with panic, fists slamming against the whirring force field. Jaw clenching, Crispus propelled himself forward, increasing his speed.

As he came within an arm's length of the sphere, he drew his machete down with a tenacity normally reserved for super mutants. The blade glanced off the field, the force of his ineffectual attack causing him to stumble. Fighting to regain his balance, he found himself burying his face in the crook of his arm, shielding his eyes from the blinding light suddenly being emitted from within the orb.

As quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished. No longer sensing its glare, Crispus lowered his arm. The blue wall was gone and the electric thrumming had ceased. The woman was nowhere to be found. It was as though she had never been there at all.

Quickly sheathing his machete, the Legionary spun on his heel, looking frantically for where the woman might have gone. Finding nothing, he lashed out at the satellite, striking at panels that seemed to mock him with their incessant fluttering.

"Deodamnatus!" he bellowed. He had failed Inculta and he had failed the Legion. Though "keep her alive," had not been explicitly stated, for Crispus to report that the woman had disappeared right in front of him would not bode well for his life expectancy. That she might be dead on his watch would only drive more nails into the metaphorical coffin. He was so far beyond fucked he could only see a cross in his future.

Taking a breath to clear his mind, he allowed his eyes to drift to the stars. Perhaps a small sacrifice and strong prayer to Mars would provide him with a less painful fate. He could also wait for a day or two, surveil the area, and see if she came back. That was likely the smartest course of action.

Resigning himself to standby, he headed back to the house she had vacated, binoculars long forgotten in the desert soil. Perhaps she had left items behind that would shed light on who she was.

/

Caesar surveyed the group of Legionaries gathered at his table. He had brought them together to celebrate Inculta's successes in Searchlight and Nipton and was sparing no expense. The most beautiful slaves in camp were dressed in sparse clothing, serving roasted Brahmin and rich wine, a rare treat saved only for his highest officers on the greatest of occasions. He hoped the head Frumentarius would take one of the women and produce a son. A mind as brilliant as his needed to be passed on.

Rising to his feet, Caesar launched into his toast. "Gentlemen, it is no surprise that I have gathered you all here to celebrate our recent victories. Not only have we gained footing across the Colorado, but we have struck fear into the hearts of profligates throughout the Mojave. None of this could have happened without the brilliance of Vulpes Inculta."

Caesar gave pause, allowing the men to clap and vocalize their agreement. It did not escape his notice, however, that Lanius did not join in the moment, choosing instead to silently stare at the evening's star. He loved the Legate, gave him everything he asked for, and looked the other way when confronted with how quickly the man went through slaves. It didn't mean he wasn't a raging asshole at times. "Regardless of your roles within my Legion, we can all agree that these accomplishments bring us glory and bring the NCR closer to its demise. Tonight I want to present Inculta with new armor as a token of my appreciation."

With the sweep of his hand, slaves brought forth new caligae, greaves, pteruges, cuirass, and cloak. Much of it had been fashioned in styles Caesar had once seen in old holotape movies depicting ancient warriors and he was particularly fond of the cuirass. It had been cast in bronze and designed to convey a muscled torso. Slave women would certainly oblige the Frumentarius when he wore the armor and other Legionaries would aspire to his greatness.

Down the table, Lanius scowled under his mask. No one had ever been given a full set of armor by Caesar, not even himself. The Son of Mars knew how great an affront it would be to his second-in-command, even if he had assembled his own imposing armor and had been gifted with a menacing helmet in the past. This was a calculated move on Caesar's part.

Vulpes Inculta had gained his commander's favor in the last few years, showing his aptitude for strategy and espionage. Caesar saw unlimited potential in the young man, but wanted to make certain that his skills were never turned against the Legion. A mind as ingenious as Inculta's might find other challenges to champion and he needed to stay in the imperator's pocket. Bestowing gifts and fatherly attention to the Frumentarius would go a long way in ensuring he would not stray.

The Son of Mars watched with delight as Inculta graciously accepted the gift, a beaming grin upon his face. It appeared as though the move had been a success, flattering the young man and raising his sense of importance to his master. He took the Frumentarius's thanks with ease, assuring him it was the least he could do.

"After all," he said, addressing the table, "armor like that will leave profligate women wet and NCR men pissing their pants!" When the table quieted from its raucous laughter, he continued, "Tonight, I want you all the enjoy yourselves. Our Fox has more plans for the Mojave in the coming weeks and I want all of you well rested and ready for it. So eat, drink, fuck, and be merry!"

The evening continued with the men, save for Lanius, imbibing more wine and growing increasingly hands-on with the slave women. As the night grew late, Vulpes quietly excused himself from the revelry.

Seeing him leave, Caesar summoned one of his slaves. "Felina, go to Inculta's tent and see to it that he fully enjoys the rest of his evening. Do whatever he asks of you, and do not leave him wanting. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," she said in a bow. She was Caesar's most pleasing slave, her lithe curves and full lips servicing him regularly. He had no qualms, though, in sharing her with the Frumentarius if it kept the younger man content.

/

Vulpes pulled out of Felina and left his seed on her bottom before collapsing onto his bed.

"Would my Lord like anything else?" she asked, breathless and hoping.

"No."

"I am willing if you wish it."

"Leave."

She huffed. Inculta always proved to be a more robust lover than Caesar and she had hoped to stay the night. Morning sex with the head Frumentarius would have been worth waking up for. Throwing her clothes back on, she left for her master's quarters. Hopefully he would not ask for a round of his own.

Lying on his back, Vules thought over the evening. He had thoroughly enjoyed the dinner, gifts, and wine, and looked forward to wearing the armor. He had been weighing the merits of keeping it strictly for ceremonial purposes versus actually donning it for battle when Felina had entered his tent.

She certainly knew how to press a man's buttons, something all the more impressive given that she was barely seventeen years old. He appreciated Caesar's thoughtfulness, but despite his body's own jubilant reaction, he only wanted Felina when he wanted her. Their frequent trysts in the shadows merely served as one of the last few exercises of free will the Frumentarius had. He only wanted her body on his terms, not on his commander's orders. In the end, though, he had taken her, knowing that an orgasm then was better than Caesar's wrath tomorrow.

Rolling onto his side, he made himself as comfortable as the thin twin mattress would allow. As he drifted off to sleep, he could almost hear a faint and sunny giggle from his past come out to haunt him.

* * *

 _A/N: A few things - 1) Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and any combination thereof! I haven't written creatively in 10 or so years and it means a lot to me that anyone would even consider reading this. 2) I have already written this story in its entirety, so feel free to get invested :) I'll be updating every weekend. 3) I don't actually speak Latin, so anything I use in this story comes from research. Faex (shit) and deodamnatus (God damnit) were dug up from a variety of sources, so I apologize if they are incorrect._


	4. June 5, 2281

Say you'll be all right come tomorrow  
But tomorrow might not be here for you  
Oooh, that smell  
Can't you smell that smell?  
Oooh, that smell  
The smell of death surrounds you  
\- Lynyrd Skynyrd, "That Smell"

Crispus had waited in Nipton for two days, keeping a watchful eye on the Mojave Drive-In. Not a single disturbance had captivated his attention in that time, save for some mole rats passing through. Not knowing what else to do, he had finally decided to trek back to Fortification Hill and accept whatever the Fates had in store for him.

The walk through camp stretched on forever. Averting his eyes from the crucified slaves along the path, he began to feel an ache blossom in his jaw, unaware that he had been clenching it since Cottonwood Cove. He had already come to the conclusion that it would be pure luck if he would be scourged and left with his life.

"Ave, Crispus!" Antony called to him as he passed the arena. The two had bonded over their affinity for dogs, though Crispus thought the Houndmaster had the voice of a deranged maniac.

"Ave, Antony," the younger Legionary replied, his voice morose and quiet.

"Is something wrong?" Antony worried. Crispus was usually rather jovial and the recruit was one of the few friends he had at the Fort.

The Frumentarius simply shook his head and continued on his way. Rounding the corner of Caesar's tent, Inculta's loomed ahead. His commander had been given the empty alcove behind the headquarters within the last few months as part of their Lord's many gifts to him. As a result, Inculta had the most scenic view from the hill right outside his lodgings and was always nearby to answer Caesar's every beck and call.

Reaching the tent's front flap, Crispus stopped to gather his wits. He wiggled his jaw, attempting to free it from its soreness, while straightening his posture. Taking one last breath, he entered his commander's quarters, but gave pause when he took in the look of frustration already entrenched on the man's features.

"Sir? Are you all right?" he questioned. "I can report back later if you wish."

Vulpes glared at him for a moment before leaning back from his desk. Maps and various documents were scattered about and a steaming mug full of an unknown drink rested nearby. Inculta's lips finally twitched and he replied, "Take care to spill your seed in any woman Caesar may ever throw at you."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, I was not expecting you for several more days. Do you have something of note to report?"

Crispus hesitated and the older Legionary could see the unease creeping in. "I-I do, sir."

The recruit spent the next 25 minutes explaining his predicament to the head Frumentarius. He recalled his attempts to free the woman from whatever trap she had stumbled into, the fear in her eyes, and how he had kept watch for two days before returning. After asking several questions for clarification, his commander had sat quietly for a moment.

Steepling his hands, Vulpes finally spoke. "You did what you could, Crispus. Go back to Nipton. If there is no sign of her within a week, return. Visit the dissolute trader Dale Barton before you leave to acquire any supplies you may need." He passed several coins into his charge's hands and dismissed him.

Back outside the tent, Crispus could hardly believe his luck. He wasn't going to die or be punished – at least not yet. He was beginning to understand the joyous insanity Oliver Swanick had displayed when he fled Nipton with his life.

/

Blood splattered onto Jordan's face, but she couldn't stop. She was so fucking sick of this place – sick of nearly dying every time she stepped foot outside of the Sink, sick of having no help, and sick of having to be the Think Tank's bitch. She wanted out. She wanted to go home. So the nightcrawler that had attacked her outside of the X-8 Research Facility was bearing the brunt of her frustration, its skull deteriorating under the repeated strikes of her Saturnite fist. She should have cared that the bone fragments would eventually damage it, tearing up the gears, clogging the vents, and scraping through the hydraulic pumps, but she didn't.

Thinking she was done expending her rage, she sat back on her heels and shook her head. Only five million more tasks to go before she could get her organs back and leave. Who the hell would kidnap and blackmail someone via the theft of their squishy bits anyway?

Faintly, Jordan began to hear clicking drift up from down the slope. A growl of resentment bubbled up in her throat. Would it never end? Rather than face the approaching pack of robo-scorpions, she tossed two plasma grenades down the hill and retreated back into the central X-8 building.

As the door slid shut behind her, Jordan bowed her head. She had lost count of the number of robotic monstrosities that had tried to murder her already that day – a new feature of Dr. Mobius's unending campaign of terror against the Think Tank. Maybe they could be allies since he hated the others so much. Maybe he was just as much a loony as they were and was trying to kill her for shits and giggles. Or maybe, just maybe, she should crawl back through the Divide and have Ulysses rain a holy fire down on this godforsaken bowl of techy crap.

"Fuck!" she bellowed, fists and feet crashing into the support pillar in front of her. Hearing Roxie's whimper, Jordan was brought back to reality and her assault slowed to a stop. As she slid against the column, the cyberdog she'd built nuzzled against her and let slip a low whine.

"Maybe I'll just take a nap, Roxie. They're not going anywhere, right?"

Roxie wiggled against her, forcing Jordan's hand onto her head.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she sighed. Fishing the sonic emitter from the holster on her thigh, she gave it a cursory examination. "I should probably finish upgrading this thing."

/

"Meet with Servius at Tehatticup Mine before proceeding to Nelson. He will provide you with that day's schedule for the camp. After nightfall, send one of your men through here," Vulpes pointed to a spot on the map. "They will need to disable a generator that sits between these two barracks. Once the camp goes dark, your men should have little difficulty taking it. Any questions?"

Dead Sea stared at the Frumentarius for a moment. He hated covert missions, preferring open battle and straightforward glory. It was the way of the Legion. "Why are we not taking Forlorn Hope instead? It's larger and their supplies run through it."

Vulpes wanted to roll his eyes. Typical. Those raised in the Legion preferred sledgehammers to chisels, rarely understanding the value of picking away at their opponent and molding them into what was needed. "This continues our march up the Colorado and provides more psychological damage so that when the time comes to take Forlorn Hope, it will be easier."

The decanus merely nodded, not wanting to share his thoughts. If it were up to the Legate, they would march across the river and scorch the earth from Ranger Station Echo to Camp Golf. _That_ would have the profligates shaking in their dress shoes. The Legion, in Dead Sea's opinion, had no place for cowardly tactics and underhanded maneuvers.

Dismissing the decanus, Vulpes straightened his desk, putting away maps and correspondence, but leaving the day's intelligence reports aside. He would read over them after dinner. Opening his cabinet, he began removing various items he would need for New Vegas – business suit, straight razor, police pistol, passport, and several fistfuls of aurii. As he retrieved a satchel from his footlocker, he heard the swish of his tent flap and glanced over his shoulder.

Felina stood holding a tray of food and wearing her smallest tunica. "Compliments of Caesar," she smiled.

Vulpes resumed his packing. "Leave it on the desk."

He could almost hear her face fall amongst the rattling of the dishes as she set them down. "You do not wish for a parting gift?"

"No." It didn't matter to him whether or not he actually wanted to sleep with her then. It was simply the fact it had been compulsory the previous time and he wanted to exercise his right to choose this time. She sniffled behind him. "Leave, Felina."

With a gust of air from the evening desert, she was gone. Vulpes exhaled and shook his head. He understood his reasons for their dalliances, but unbeknownst to her, he also understood her motivations.

/

Boone could feel a rough but steady rhythm under himself, shifting him around and digging into his ribs. A heavy stench hung around him like flies on a pile of shit. Slowly cracking his eyes open he was met with the sight of fractured pavement moving in time with the rhythm.

Being careful not to move too much, he took stock of his surroundings. He was slung over the back of a pack Brahmin, headed north. In the distance he could hear the creaking of windmills, indicating that he hadn't gone far from Novac yet. Not recognizing any of the boots coming into view, he decided to chance it. With some calculated squirming, he broke free of the beast's back and stumbled before landing on his backside.

"Whoa now. How ya doing?"

That voice, it was familiar. Boone's sneer was accompanied by a drawn brow as he took in the face it belonged to. Cliff Briscoe.

"What the fuck is going on?" he bit out.

The man waffled a bit, uncertain of what to say to a pissed off drug addict. "Well, we're gonna take you to New Vegas and we're gonna get you some help."

"I don't need your damn help," Boone spat. "Whose bright idea was it to haul me off like some slave, huh?"

"Mine, and Manny's, and Andy's. We're your friends, Boone. We don't wanna see you die."

"That's my choice to make!"

Cliff shook his head in sorrow, the lines of his weathered face becoming more evident than before. It had been touch-and-go for days after they found their fallen sniper. Boone had stopped breathing at least twice the first day and made attempts to escape the barren room they had held him in every day since. When the trio realized they wouldn't able to handle him on their own, Cliff had hooked up with the first caravan headed north. "Not when so many people care about you."

"Not enough," Boone muttered. If Jordan had cared, she would have stayed. Changing gears, he continued, "Don't you have some stupid toys to sell?"

The hurt that reflected in the older man's russet eyes ate at him more than he cared to admit.

"Oh, I think Novac'll be okay without me for a few days," Cliff conceded. Offering a hand to help Boone up, he added, "C'mon. The sooner we get there, the sooner you'll feel better."

Appearing to relent, Boone allowed himself to be helped up. Then he bolted. Attempting to sprint past the caravan guards, he was quickly tackled to the ground, face scraping against the worn concrete. In a flash he was hoisted back upright, the group's traveling merchant producing a length of rope.

"What do you think you're doing with that?" Boone demanded.

"If you're gonna try to run, then we'll have to lash you to something fat and slow."

While the merchant bound his hands and fastened him to the Brahmin's harness, Cliff cheerily helped the guards redistribute the animal's load.

It was going to be a long walk to Vegas.

* * *

 _A/N: I don't think there was a single minute of Old World Blues that I wasn't swearing inventively. Also, I know things may be starting a bit slow, but it'll start picking up soon! See you next weekend :)_


	5. June 9, 2281

This ain't no place for no hero  
This ain't no place for no better man  
\- The Heavy, "Short Change Hero"

Jordan tumbled forward into the Mojave dirt, a pair of grimy hands clawing at her neck from below. Just as she had pulled the trigger of her transportalponder a Lobotomite had attacked her, jumping into the field and catching a ride back with her. Using her teleporter to pistol whip the science experiment, she overpowered it long enough to unsheathe her combat knife from her thigh. As it began to lunge for her throat again, she sunk the blade into its goggled skull, slamming it repeatedly into the ground for good measure.

"Who do you think is cuter, Dr. Klein or Dr. Borous?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Jordan rumbled, getting to her feet and dusting off. She would have to talk to Veronica about disabling her stealth suit's personality. It was much too chatty for her tastes.

Hearing the crunch of dry earth behind her, she turned to find a Legionary watching her. Jordan found herself so excited to see another living, breathing person that she launched herself at him, enveloping him in a crushing hug.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "I know you probably hate me and think I'm a dirty profligate whore, but I am so damn happy to see another human being." After a moment, she released him and stepped back, clearing her throat. He had not returned her embrace, but she had not expected him to. "I assume I am being watched and that is why you are here."

Crispus nodded, unable to find his voice. He had come to the drive-in to once again look for clues that might suggest where the woman had been taken. His back had been turned when he heard the tell-tale whirring and spun around in time to see the same blinding light as from days before. When it had faded, she was slaughtering whatever that thing had been. Yet another inconceivable event he was going to have to explain.

"Well," she began, "tell your commander that I am alive and will still carry his message." She took a 10mm pistol from the corpse's jumpsuit and tossed it to him. "Here. He won't be needing it."

She had turned to leave when Crispus called out to her. "Where did you go?"

Her face fell around the corners. Jordan had truly hated that place, even if her toaster had been endlessly entertaining. "The Big Empty."

She could feel the man's eyes on her as she left, turning north towards New Vegas. She needed a damn vacation and some beer. A lot of beer.

/

"How is it down south? I heard the Legion has been on the move."

A bottle of purified water slid in front of Cliff. The merchant he and Boone had been traveling with all morning insisted that they stop for food and rest. He'd been hesitant to agree, but was glad he had. The woman behind the counter at the 188 was eyeing him with curiosity and making a point to talk to him. He'd have to make a stop there on his way back.

"Novac's quiet for now, but I don't know how long it'll stay that way."

"Not long," Boone gruffed beside him.

Cliff watched in silence as the woman rounded the counter and retrieved a skewer from the burn barrel by the bridge. Returning, she plopped it onto a plate and handed it to him. Charred mantis legs. It was better than nothing. He smiled politely, waiting for the meat to cool before sinking his teeth into it. Boone shuffled off the stool beside him, heading towards an empty end of the outpost.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Cliff demanded, nearly coming off of his own perch.

"I gotta take a piss!"

Cliff didn't feel right about letting him go off on his own, but he didn't particularly want to babysit him like a child either. He had a hot plate of food in front of him, anyway, and already needed a break from the man's dour mood. Realizing that he could see the New Vegas skyline from where he sat, Cliff let out a heavy breath. Just a few more hours to go. "Okay, but hurry back,' he yelled.

Boone threw his hand up in a noncommittal wave and strolled passed the rusted out camper hotel. Watching him go, Cliff shook his head.

"Friend of yours?" the woman inquired.

"He doesn't think so right now."

She leaned against the bar. "Why's that?"

"Me and some other buddies are forcing him to get help."

She nodded, strands of strawberry blonde hair wisping about her face with the midday breeze. "It sounds like you're the kind of friend he needs, then."

"Thanks," Cliff replied sheepishly. He'd needed the compliment. He knew they were doing the right thing, but he'd begun to wonder if he had overstepped his limits. A trip that would normally take a merchant caravan only a couple of days had morphed into a four day odyssey from hell starring plodding Brahmin, a pissed off drug addict, cazadores, and Vipers. Sinking his teeth into the black and crispy bits of mantis, his week was momentarily forgotten. "Hey, this is pretty good!"

The barkeep grinned. People always thought she was serving up chunks of coal. Their surprise and delight at finding juicy and flavorful meat underneath a crunchy exterior was gratifying to her.

From down the hill shouts began to erupt. Cliff dropped his lunch and propelled himself from his stool, heading towards the south side of the outpost. On the remnants of Highway 95, Boone was tussling with a small fireteam of NCR troopers. Swearing under his breath as he headed down the hill, Cliff caught up to the group with a hobbling run. He was too old to be chasing down young men.

"What's going on here?" he shouted over the commotion.

A young corporal jerked back as two of her troopers subdued the sniper. "This asshat tried to lift Private Otto's rifle. You know him?"

"Yeah," Cliff lamented. "Yeah, I do. Mind escorting him back up to the 188 for me?"

"Not at all," she sneered.

Cliff had been wrong. They might have been a few hours from Vegas, but it was going to take forever to get there.

/

Jordan had just passed the McBride house when she heard the quick thumping of boots headed towards her.

"Hey!" Manny waved to her, slowing his approach.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing down here? Don't you have watch?"

"I do," he shrugged, "but I saw you coming up the road and thought I would come say hello."

"Oh, okay."

The sniper shifted on his feet. "Boone's not here anymore, if that's what you're worried about."

She didn't realize she had appeared tense and gave a nervous chuckle. "Where is he then?"

Manny grew uncomfortable at the question, casting his eyes downward for a moment before answering. "We sent him to New Vegas. Cliff's taking him there now." Seeing her confusion, he continued, "He went on a bender. We caught him on psycho and some kind of gas in one of the empty rooms at the motel."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Ranger Andy says there's a good doc at the clinic in Vegas that can help him out."

Jordan nodded. She knew Dr. Usanagi well. If that was where Cliff was hauling him off to, then Boone would be in good hands. "Thanks for telling me."

"Sure thing." Manny looked her over. Something about her was different from when he'd seen her last. "Where ya headed?"

"Home."

"Oh, well, I won't keep you then." Part of him cursed his best friend for hooking up with the woman in front of him. She was attractive enough and ladies like her didn't come through Novac too often. He could have had a shot.

"See you next time," she replied in a friendly, but dismissive tone before continuing her trek north. Feeling his eyes linger on her as she went, Jordan scoffed to herself. He'd never stood a chance. The first time she had met him he had disparaged another man's wife and requested that she deal with his feral ghoul problems before he would tell her about Benny. That was no way to impress her.

A few minutes more of walking and a wave to No-Bark Noonan, the Gibson Scrapyard came into view. Hearing the pandemonium of the owner's five dogs as she drew near, Jordan decided to drop in. In the past, she had always been focused on whatever task was at hand and the scrapyard's collection of canines had slipped her mind.

"So you're back," the older woman greeted her from a makeshift chair out front. "Now, where did we leave off?"

Jordan wasn't quite sure how to phrase her pitch. "Well…I have a cyberdog-"

"Rex, right?"

She had forgotten that she'd had him with her the last time she had stopped there. "Yes! Rex. He's…well, he's dying. I took him to Dr. Henry in Jacobstown, but was told that he's suffering from neural degradation. He'll need a new brain. I was wondering if you might be willing to part with one of yours."

"Doctor Henry?" Gibson asked in a tone that held surprise and warm familiarity. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in years. Hard to believe he's still alive. As for your request, it's, uh, a bit ghoulish if you ask me, but Rey is pretty old and I'll probably have to put him down soon enough." She thought for a moment before stating, "As for the price for this favor, 700 caps sounds about right. Rey's like family, and I've got other dogs to take care of."

"Which one is he?"

"Oh, he's this one right here," the older woman replied, motioning to the calm, aging dog by her side.

Jordan kneeled, extending her hand for Rey to sniff. After passing his inspection, she scratched him vigorously behind his ears and down his neck, earning a wide smile and a bevy of licks from him. "Okay. You've got yourself a deal."

"All right. I can do this now if you want."

Rising to stand again, Jordan grimaced. "No, I want to give you some time to say goodbye. I'll come back in a week with the necessary preservatives."

"Sounds good to me."

/

Vulpes leaned patiently against the corridor wall and hummed to himself. Alerio was running late, but he could hardly fault the man. Espionage often required one to be flexible, willing to fully play the role and travel down whatever avenues that presented. When he had passed by the diner on his way to his subordinate's room, the man had been hustling a game of pool against an over-confident tourist. He suspected it wouldn't be much longer.

Confirming his prediction, Alerio rounded the corner, his expression hardened and his gait deliberate. Seeing his commander waiting, the hard lines of his face began to soften. The Frumentarius did not often get to spend time around other Legionaries, a dismal aspect of being sent on undercover missions. When others from his unit were in town, they avoided each other for fear of slipping up and exposing themselves. Vegas would look the other way on most things, but the Legion was not one of them.

Unlocking his door, he waited until the pair were inside to offer a greeting. "Ave, Inculta. I'm sorry for my lateness."

Vulpes waved it off nonchalantly while he looked about. The personal items scattered around the Vault 21 hotel room were more interesting than unnecessary apologies. "You mentioned in a report that one of the Three Families is interested in an alliance."

"Yes," Alerio confirmed, scurrying to his desk and fishing out the file he needed. "The Omertas. I overheard them discussing it and approached them."

 _Faex_. Vulpes hated that family and their godforsaken casino. They were filthy, hooking their employees on chems, then charging them more for every fix and taking a cut of their pay. They were willing to do anything – even turn on their own – to gain wealth and power. They were not a group of people bound by scruples and he wanted nothing more than to see their heads on pikes.

Having a family on their side would be useful, though. Ideas were already beginning to form in his mind. The Omertas were ruthless enough for each of them. "What do they want in return?"

"Control of the Strip."

Vulpes scoffed. "Fat chance."

"I've arranged for you to have a meeting with them this evening. Nero and Big Sal will be expecting you in the Zoara Club at 7."

"Lovely," he groaned.

Two hours later Vulpes was negotiating his way through the casino floor at the Gomorrah. Billows of cigar smoke and the friendly winks of prostitutes encroached his path, reminding him every step of the way of why he never stayed there unless he had to. No one ever seemed to know when they were being a nuisance or when to back off.

Passing through Brimstone, he was approaching a door by the bar when he was stopped by one of the many Omerta thugs that roamed the place.

"Hey buddy, Zoara is off limits to everyone but Family," the man stated.

Producing a black card with red script from his suit jacket, Vulpes replied, "I believe I am expected."

The bouncer paled. Only those deemed to be of vital importance to the Family received those slips. "Yes, sir. Go right ahead."

Reaching the top of the stairs, Vulpes was greeted as an old friend returning home.

"Ah, Mr. Fox, good to see you again," Big Sal intoned, arms stretched out as if to embrace the Legionary. He politely smiled in return, shaking the mobster's hand while receiving a thudding pat on the back. "Come with me. Nero's waiting for us."

Inside his office, Nero continued the false friendliness, offering him whiskey and cigars from his personal stash. Accepting the drink, but not the smoke, Vulpes followed the pair to the large desk on the far end of the room and took a seat. The chair was stiff despite being well worn and sat lower than it should have – a means of intimidation, no doubt. The Omertas already had a vicious reputation. It was not difficult to imagine how daunting it would be for the average Wastelander to sit in their office and not feel meek in the face of their imposing presence.

Unfortunately for the Family, the Frumentarius was no such Wasterlander.

Nero leaned back in his chair and gave a lopsided smile. "I have to admit that I am very surprised to learn who your employer really is, Mr. Fox."

"I excel at what I do and take great pride in that."

"As you should," Nero laughed.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, enjoying the smoky flavor that burned a path down his throat, Vulpes interjected, "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? This meeting was arranged due to your interest in an alliance. Did you have something specific in mind?"

Sal shifted in his seat beside him. "All business. We don't get enough of that, do we, boss?"

"No, we don't," Nero affirmed. "There's a plan in the works. We call it Racket, and it's going to show Not-At-Home and every other fucker in our business just what the Family can do."

"Go on."

"The idea is to raise hell on the Strip when fighting breaks out at the Dam. We'd like to funnel military grade weapons in and have a poison spread to people on the Strip to prevent them from fighting back. We've, let's say, _recruited_ two individuals to help us in the matter."

Hands steepling, Vulpes asked, "And what do you need from us?"

"Currently, our smuggler needs someone to help get weapons through Camp McCarran. Our chemist might need some supplies in the future, too."

"Anything else?"

"We want control of the Strip."

The Legionary's eyes glinted. "I believe we can help you with that."

Leaning forward, Nero appeared to be a man on the verge of celebration. "Nothing is ever free. What does the Legion want?"

"Nothing," Vulpes stated. "You'll be doing the dirty work of removing several obstacles from our playing field. That is reward enough."

"Hot damn," Nero exclaimed, rising to his feet. "I told you these Legion boys would help, didn't I?"

Sal nodded with a grin and joined the others in standing around the desk. With a smooth turn of his wrist, Vulpes finished his whiskey and deposited the glass on the glossy wood surface in front of him. Exchanging handshakes, he informed the pair, "We will meet again in a few weeks to discuss our progress."

Ambling back to the Ultra Luxe, Vulpes couldn't stop the smirk from dancing on his lips. It was the little details that people consistently overlooked. The Omertas wanted control over the Strip? They could have it – for a day. Even if they had specified that they wanted permanent authority, it would not have presented a problem. Being absorbed into the Legion, they would have command over the Strip just like every other one-time tribe. Or he could have them killed after the Dam. Then their demands for control would be silenced and inconsequential.

Options were always important.

* * *

 _A/N: Lol, Vulpes and his technicalities. Anyway, big things happening in the next chapter! See you next weekend ;)_


	6. June 12-13, 2281

All of my life  
Where have you been?  
I wonder if I'll ever see you again  
\- Lenny Kravitz, "Again"

Karl was almost certain that he had been waiting outside The Tops for half of his adult life. The Courier had disappeared into the casino before he could catch her earlier in the day and because he detested such establishments, he had elected to wait outside for her. That was hours ago and he had begun to second-guess his decision.

The Frumentarius shook his head. He had been delighted when Caesar selected him to be his emissary to the Great Khans. It was important work for the Legion, building alliances and forging trust with those who would stand against the NCR. Of course, those left standing when it was all said and done would be forced to assimilate or die, but that was no matter. It was the way of things and Karl felt no remorse for it. They were, after all, profligate drug dealers with a misplaced notion of female equality.

The night before he was to leave for Red Rock Canyon, Caesar had called him to his tent and requested that he make a delivery. It was only a slight detour and all other Frumentarii were otherwise engaged. Karl had enthusiastically agreed – anything for the Son of Mars. Yet now, as another NCR soldier drunkenly vomited into the bushes at his right, he found himself increasingly annoyed with the entire mission. Wasn't this Inculta's job, handing out invitations to VIPs? The man was better suited for the Strip than any other Legionary anyway.

"Hey, stranger," a washed up blonde slurred at him. Karl could smell the alcohol rolling off of her in waves as she leaned in, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Leave me, prof-" he caught himself. Grinding his teeth for a beat, he continued, "Ma'am, you are drunk. Surely there is some place you can go to sleep it off."

She beamed. "Your bed sounds like a good place."

Karl fought to keep his eyes from rolling. Slavery would save her from herself. "I'm not staying in Vegas, ma'am. Only passing through."

Her eyes widened a fraction and she pulled away, rubbing at her chin. "Oh," she mumbled before stumbling away. He watched with disgust as she approached another man, appearing to throw herself at him, too.

Yes, Vulpes Inculta should have been the man sent on this errand. He'd seen the Fox in action once. Women throwing themselves at him, and he, always with the silver tongue, could turn them down in such a way that they were happier for it. Or he would take them to bed and have them singing all of their secrets by morning. Delivering the Mark of Caesar to the Courier would have been a breeze for his commander.

Karl was so bogged down in his thoughts that he nearly missed the redhead walking by. She had company with her, a man and two other women, which was not ideal, but he wasn't going to wait around any longer.

He caught up to her quickly, his breath nearly catching in his throat when she turned to face him. Her gaze was unsettling, peering into him as though she could read his most closely held thoughts as easy as a marquee. Did she know who he had been with last night?

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat in an attempt to recover, and stated, "The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. He admires your accomplishments and bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark." He pressed the necklace into her hand. "Your presence is required at my Lord's camp at Fortification Hill. His Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands."

She nodded, appearing unfazed by his spiel. "When am I expected?"

"As soon as possible."

"Thank you."

Karl felt his lip curl as he disappeared into the crowds. He didn't appreciate her treating him as an equal. She would learn her place.

/

"You cannot actually be considering going." Arcade was exasperated. When Veronica had begun to fret, worrying because Jordan had been gone for more than a week, he had assured her that their friend was fine. Even when she had come back with a new set of surgical scars and gear he had never heard of, he had been confident that she was okay. Now, however, he was beginning to wonder if Big Mountain actually had scrambled her brain.

Jordan took a sip of her beer and regarded him. She knew the ebbs and flows of his anger and opted to maintain silence. He'd come around or let it go eventually. To her left, Veronica let out a small sigh and rubbed her temples. Knowing that her scribe would soon be chiming in, Jordan kicked her feet up in a neighboring chair. They had returned to the Presidential Suite of the Lucky 38 some 20 minutes prior and had been subjected to Arcade's assertions since then.

"I don't think you should go-"

The Follower's shoulders relaxed in relief. "Thank you! Someone finally agrees with me."

"Not right away," Veronica clarified. Cass tried to stifle a laugh at the shock erupting on Arcade's face. She succeeded, but barely. When Jordan's scrutiny shifted to her, the scribe continued. "I don't think you've fully recovered from Big Mountain and the trip to the Fort might be a strain on you."

Jordan had told them what she had had to about her week-long journey into the Twilight Zone. They had a vague understanding that she'd been experimented on, been hunted down by all manner of barbarous, overgrown petri dishes, and settled a dispute among pre-war scientists. Her friends didn't know about the removal of her brain or the conversations she'd held with it, convincing it to come back to her. They didn't know about the nearly incapacitating feelings of hopelessness she'd endured or the bile she'd felt rise in her throat every time another creature found her. Jordan would never be fully recovered from Big Mountain.

"And you?" she asked, swiveling her head towards Cass, who was nursing her second whiskey for the day.

"Are you going to abandon us all and join the Legion?"

"No."

The merchant leaned back, a lazy smile spreading across her features. "Then I don't see what the big deal is."

Arcade's face fell. "Caesar doesn't give a damn about your crusading. He probably sees you as a threat and plans to enslave you, to remove you as the one symbol of hope for New Vegas. This is too damn dangerous. You might not come back."

Jordan slowly spun her beer bottle around on the edge of its base, a melancholy half-smile forming on her lips. "Do you have so little faith in me?" She gauged his guilt for a moment before carrying on. "I am very well aware of the danger that accepting this invitation presents. I am also aware of the danger that _ignoring_ it will cause. Fear will not make my decisions for me, especially when your lives will be affected, too."

With that Jordan excused herself from the table and quietly retreated to her bedroom. There were a few hours left in which she could pack and shower before going to bed. By the time she reached her weapons locker, she'd already decided to only take ED-E or Rex with her. Two of her friends would cause trouble, one lived out of the way, and the other would just sigh the entire way there.

In another hour she had packed her rucksack. In two she had bathed and laid her armor out on the couch in her bedroom. By the fourth hour, she was crawling into bed, swearing under her breath that Veronica might be right, that it might be too soon. She would never admit that to that, though.

/

Jordan scrambled free of the sheets, hitting the floor with a hard thud that drowned out Rex's startled yelp. Her lungs burned like nuclear fire and she could almost taste the smoke between her ragged breaths. The darkness of her bedroom only served to keep the panic coming, surging through her, telling her to flee. Feeling her way along the stiff Oriental rug, her cyberdog nudging her in right direction, she found the nightstand. Her fingers fumbled, slowing her progress, but after a moment of frustration, the bedside light flicked on.

 _I'm safe_ , Jordan assured herself. _This isn't Utah_.

Something damp stained her cheeks and, wiping with the back of her hand, she found it was tears. The nightmare had caught her by surprise. She had, after a number of years of dealing with them, been able to determine what normally triggered the events. It was often during periods of high stress, like being trapped in the Big Empty, that she was reduced to sleepless nights, waking up in terrified bewilderment. Yet it had not happened in the week she had spent there, probably because her brain had vacated her skull.

Sitting against the side of the bed, Jordan felt cold of Rex's nose as he rooted his way underneath her arm. Not a single living being but her dog knew she had those nightmares. It was a humiliation she had always kept to herself. If people knew, they would ask questions. If they had answers, she didn't want their pity.

If she thought about it, Jordan supposed it would make sense that the memories would visit her the before she went to the Fort. They were, after all, of the day the Legion took everything from her, leaving her as the last of her people.

/

Vulpes stood beside Caesar looking sullen and feeling a bit uncomfortable with how things had unfolded. After returning from New Vegas, he had received a scathing lecture from his Lord on his ungratefulness as well as numerous jabs from Lanius about his manhood. "Compliments of Caesar" had apparently meant more than the steaming plate of lunch Felina had brought to him before his trip. One more thing to chip away at the tattered remnants of his free will.

Hearing that the golden child of the Mojave had arrived in camp and would be meeting with Caesar soon, Vulpes had come to his Lord's tent. They had been hearing whispers in the desert for weeks, stories about a stoic courier who had been shot, robbed, and left for dead and who was now doling out justice like a spaghetti Western holotape. Not only was Vulpes curious about who this person was, but he had a vested interest in the meeting's outcome. If they could sway them to the Legion's cause, the Courier would be an unstoppable weapon of espionage, infiltrating circles that his men could only dream about.

Rough fingers had begun to tap against the armrest of Caesar's throne when the tent flap was ripped open. In strolled a figure wearing a full set of advanced riot gear, something Vulpes had only seen in the Divide, a place marked by skin-flaying winds, disgusting abominations, and a deranged Ulysses at the helm. Whoever this messenger was, if they had survived that shit hole on top of a bullet to the head, then they were more indomitable than he had initially imagined.

He surmised from the confident, but not arrogant, stride that the Courier was a woman as she approached the imperator. She had turned over most of her weapons at the gate, but he could make out the faint lines of a combat knife secured in her left boot. He would have to speak with the guards about their pat-down techniques.

Vulpes would always remember the precise moment that the Courier removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm as her coppery hair fell in a loose braid down her back. He would remember it because there, as she flashed an easy, disarming smile, his world came to an abrupt and painful standstill.

Jordan.

Not only was the Courier the woman from Nipton who had survived the Big MT, but, as the Fates would have it, she was also someone from his past he thought he would never see again. He thought she was dead.

He hadn't been able to see it before, hidden behind sunglasses and dirt, but it was there in the courteous laughter and effortless wit she was currently employing against Caesar. Those green eyes that he had been frequently reminded of when visiting the temples in Flagstaff were lighting up and he remembered when they had so often gazed at him.

Realizing that his hands were on the verge of trembling, Vulpes clenched them behind his back, grimy nails digging into his palms. He was increasingly thankful for his ability to maintain a neutral expression, or a "poker face" as the profligates called it. If anyone knew or figured out who the Courier was to him, it could spell disaster. No one needed to know until he worked out what to do.

But dear Mars she had aged beautifully.

He had not seen any flickers of recognition in her eyes, though, and he remembered, too, how much he had changed. She likely had no idea who stood before her. This had to be some kind of sign, some nod from the universe. It was much too coincidental for her to make such an unexpected return to his life with the Mojave's future riding on the line.

/

Fumes built up underneath the politely upturned corners of Jordan's mouth. She had found Caesar to be insufferably egotistical and demanding. That he had implied she had only been able to kill Benny by sleeping with him insulted her further. She had never touched the bastard. Rather than setting off an outburst of rage, however, she had let it slide. Better to have the Legion see her as some kind of black widow than be the crucified idiot who redressed their dear leader over semantics.

"What do you make of Caesar?" Lucius asked her on their way to the weather station. He had been tasked with escorting her and Rex and appeared to be enjoying the midday sunshine. "It is a great honor to receive both his Mark and his audience."

Jordan opened her mouth to answer, but her voice rightly would not come. "He's a raging misogynistic asshole and if he were to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, I'd bring popcorn," was simply not an acceptable answer given her circumstances. Instead, choosing her words more carefully, she replied, "He is an uncompromising visionary who is unconquerable in his leadership." _There. That should do it,_ she thought.

She concluded that she had chosen the right words when Lucius allowed himself a small smile. He struck her as a kind man, but his status in the Legion kept Jordan from saying anything more than she had to. When they reached the door to the station, she was ushered in ahead of him. Leaning against a computer bank sat her rucksack and a bag of her confiscated weapons as well as the platinum chip that had caused her so much grief.

Jordan had no idea what was in House's bunker, but she had no intention of destroying it. Call it spite or an intransigent belief that tyrants should not get whatever they want. She suspected it was the former.

Gearing up only took a brief minute. If it was truly House's facility, she suspected it would have automated security and therefore only require her pulse gun. To be safe, though, she grabbed several plasma grenades and stimpacks, filling the pockets of her trench coat. Much to the disgust of the guards, she also took a moment to administer a dose of Rad-X before inserting the chip into the console. Giving one last wave and a reassuring wink to Lucius, she disappeared into the bunker below, Rex trailing behind her.

Jordan was almost delighted to see House's pompous face on the screen bank when she entered the anteroom. Perhaps now she could get an idea of what was stored below Fortification Hill before she had to go face it herself.

"House."

"Well! You're here ahead of schedule! I suppose it's just as well."

Suffering through the man's endless self-congratulating, the Courier finally asked what he had secreted away there so long ago. After explaining precisely what the chip was – a data storage device – he let her in on his gambit.

"As you know, the Platinum Chip upgrades my securitrons' operating software. Well, there's an army of them here. The securitrons policing the Strip are a fraction of the total number manufactured. The rest, I stored here."

Jordan's face brightened. Her day had just gotten infinitely better. Rex's excited panting beside her suggested that he agreed.

/

Caesar felt the ground rumble beneath his feet and smirked. It seemed that the Courier was adept at following orders. She would make a pleasing slave once the Legion had taken the Dam and pushed the NCR out of the Mojave. Perhaps, if she continued to do solid work for him, he would bestow the exceptional role of concubine on her, either as his or Lanius's. Rumors swirled through the wastes of her cunning, intellect, and martial aptitude. The Son of Mars would prefer to have a bloodline successor, but he could not deny that any offspring the Courier and Lanius produced would likely become true warriors of legend, inspiring Legionaries for generations to come.

He could, of course, offer her to Vulpes, but he had already provided the man with armor nicer than anything he himself had. Giving his head Frumentarius a woman that was reported to be every bit as brilliant as he was could also set the Legion on a risky path. Caesar had much to consider in the coming weeks.

When the Courier swept back into this tent a half hour later, the Legion commander caught sight of a cyberdog lingering outside the doorway. He had not noticed it before, but he would make sure the thing was dismantled for scrap after the Dam. No matter what his men thought of her, he would not be seen as playing favorites with a woman after her usefulness ran out. It could send the wrong message to the slaves.

As the woman neared his throne, Caesar passed on his congratulations on a job well done. She didn't need to tell him she'd done it. The shaking earth had spoken for her. "Let's press on, shall we? As I was telling you before, I want Mr. House out of the picture."

Watching her carefully as he outlined the next phase of his scheme, he noticed her distinct lack of reaction. It troubled him, but he dismissed it as her simply processing and making her own plans. He was thrilled when the Courier agreed to his dirty work, no questions asked. She _would_ make a wonderful slave.

Once she had been escorted out of his presence, Caesar began to ready himself for a nap. His headaches were increasing in frequency and no amount of medicine – profligate or otherwise – seemed to offer relief. As he removed his belt, he called for Lucius and Vulpes.

"Yes, my Lord?" the praetorian inquired, standing near the end of the conference table.

Caesar grunted, removing his last boot and tossing it aside. "What do you make of our little Courier?"

"I believe she is sympathetic to our cause. She sang your praises and did as you commanded."

Noticing that Vulpes had remained withdrawn and distant since entering his private quarters, Caesar turned to him, hands resting on his knees. "What about you Vulpes? You've been rather reserved this afternoon."

"I am always reserved, my Lord," he replied softly. "If she is indeed true to our cause, then she will provide a strong advantage against the NCR. If she is not, she may become quite problematic."

The Son of Mars nodded. "I want her watched. And the next time you're on the Strip, pay her a visit, too."

* * *

 _A/N: Oh snap. Who is Jordan to Vulpes?_

 _A massive "thank you!" to everyone who has read, reviewed, or followed so far! You guys rock the socks -_ all of them _\- and I am absolutely ecstatic to have held your interest. XD See you next weekend!_


	7. June 15-16, 2281

Speak of the devil, look who just walked into the room  
The guilted and faded notion of someone I once knew  
\- Shinedown, "Through the Ghost"

"What the hell did you do?" Cass demanded at the opening of the elevator doors. Soot stains peppered her skin and a nasty scrape accompanied a sizable hole in her flannel shirt.

Jordan stepped into the lobby of the presidential suite and surveyed the mess. Victor's remains lay in a heap on the lobby floor. There were burn marks in the carpet, the walls, and her door, behind which lay a scattering of her weapons, the trunk she kept at the foot of her bed standing open. The small console table to the right was overturned, the banker's lamp that had sat atop it now lying in pieces on the floor. She had liked that lamp.

Looking back to her friends, she stated flatly, "I killed House."

Arcade regarded her suspiciously. Had Caesar gotten to her? "Why?"

"It needed to be done." Jordan moved to set the narrow table upright. She'd have to steal a light from one of the other rooms in the casino. "What happened here?"

"Don't know," Cass said, rifle dangling by her side. "Victor just went crazy and tried to kill us. Said we were a bunch of 'yella bellied traitors.'"

"Why would he say that, Jordan?" Arcade questioned, arms crossing over his chest and his voice dripping in accusation. Veronica shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Jordan sighed, resting her weight on the now righted console table. Wiping a hand against her damp forehead, she realized that she, too, had soot on her. She wondered briefly if any of the securitrons upstairs had singed her hair. "I'm taking Vegas. If any of you have a problem with that, you are free to leave."

She didn't know what to expect from her friends, but it certainly wasn't the jubilant and raucous response they gave her. Veronica rushed forward, throwing lean arms around her friend, squealing all the while. Behind her, Arcade and Cass high-fived and hip-bumped.

"This calls for a celebration!" Cass whooped.

/

The quartet had emptied two bottles of wine before raiding the cocktail lounge. Jordan had watched as her friends continued to pillage its stores while she politely declined. She didn't care much for mixing her liquors and was content with the two large glasses she'd already had.

From her seat on the couch, she could see Arcade's sleeping form in a nearby chair and Cass slumped over the bar. They would be hurting come morning. Veronica, however, had chosen to curl up on her own couch beside her friend. As the scribe nursed her Nuka-Cola and whiskey, Jordan couldn't help but feel her steady and incessant stare.

"What is it, Veronica?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Seriously?" There was a note of disbelief in Jordan's tone. With the other woman's vigorous nod, she turned her attention to the world outside the Lucky 38. It was dark now, and though they had only turned on a few lamps, the lounge was well lit from the shimmering Vegas lights below. She was confounded for a moment as to how she had managed to land herself in such a position of power and then remembered Yes Man. She'd have to pay him a visit in the morning.

Staring out the window, she finally answered. "Do you ever wonder who you have become?"

Veronica nodded. "I wonder what Christine would think of me."

Jordan eyes were wistful as she smiled, turning her empty water bottle about her knee. She often meditated on that same thing about her own lost love. "I killed a man today and for the first time I'm uncertain if it was the right thing to do."

The scribe finished her drink and moved the empty glass to the floor. "What makes this time different?"

"Every time I've killed someone, they either deserved it or were a threat to me. In a way, I killed House for personal gain. _And_ I'm not confident I'm the right person to be leading the Mojave either."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," Veronica replied in earnest. "The way people talk about you, they'd follow you anywhere. Once word gets out that you've kicked House to the curb and you're taking over, they're not going to be afraid anymore. They'll stand up to the NCR and the Legion. They'll name their non-ugly children after you."

Jordan's expression was at once amused and uncomfortable. Receiving praise from friends always did that to her. "I think you give me _too much_ credit."

"Maybe," Veronica allowed. She shifted to sit cross-legged and silent minutes passed between them before she spoke again. "As far as what you've done goes, sometimes being the good guy doesn't necessarily mean being the nice guy."

Jordan hummed in response. She had not considered things that way. Removing House from the equation was ultimately the right move for the most people, even if it was cruel to murder a shriveled, relatively defenseless old man. One tyrant gone, two more to go.

Veronica cut into her friend's thoughts. "Can I ask you something?"

Jordan felt her lips twitch. _You just did,_ she thought. "Go ahead."

"You never talk about your past. Is that because you can't remember it? Because of the shooting?"

She stayed silent for a long moment. Her mother's pleas drifted to the forefront of her mind, haunting all of its forgotten corners. "I do remember. It's why I don't talk about it."

Sorrow crept over the brunette's face. Her friend did not need to say anything further. As much as Senior Scribe Schuler had insisted otherwise, Veronica knew that some torments were better left to gather dust. She might not ever know what had happened to her friend, but that was okay with her. She knew now that Jordan wasn't hiding brain damage, too embarrassed to share her injury with those around her. She had reasons for being reserved and often detached from the people and events in her life.

Jordan stood and stretched, crinkling her empty bottle in one hand. "You're a great friend, Veronica. Have a good night."

/

Boone stepped out of the New Vegas Medical Clinic and headed northwest. He was almost out of cigarettes, his last real crutch. Jules would probably spare him a few when he got back to the Square, but he would need to buy his own soon. Damn it.

Boots crunching across the wastes, he thought back to Novac. Days into a bender, Cliff, Manny, and Andy had kidnapped him and shipped him north. It was an intervention, they claimed. He'd hated them for days afterward. He hadn't wanted their damn help. Just wanted to fucking forget about Carla, about Jordan, and about every other godforsaken thing that had happened in his life.

By the time Cliff had delivered him to the medical clinic, he was sobered up and growing tired of fighting. Thinking on the way he had treated his friend, he had begun to feel like a royal ass. He was absolutely not about to admit it at the time, however, and had grown quiet instead, barely speaking for several days after the other man left. It had been one more thing to pile onto his mountain of guilt. He had sniped off defenseless innocents in a canyon a few miles to the east, he had murdered his own wife and child, he abused drugs, and, apparently, he was the kind of person who spat all over the good will of his friends. Empty apologies could not cover his ever-growing worthlessness. Or so he had thought at the time.

Dr. Usanagi had been kind enough to accept Boone as a patient and introduce him to people in the North Vegas Square – people who would watch after him when she couldn't. Since then he had spent every day at the clinic. He'd asked the good doctor for the most intensive therapy she could offer – whatever would get him back out in the real world the fastest. He had a Courier he needed to fix things with.

Usanagi was working with him, trying to help him understand the things that haunted him and working with him to find new ways of thinking. It was challenging and quite possibly the most terrifying thing he'd ever done. The very _idea_ of letting Carla go and accepting Bitter Springs was something he was having to come to grips with. The searing frustration, anger, and resentment had kept him going for years and he couldn't remember what life was like without them.

He wanted freedom from it all, though. Despite Usanagi's lecturing that Jordan was not be used as a replacement for Carla, he was certain she merely did not understand the situation. Jordan had walked into his life at a critical moment and helped him with something deeply personal, seeming to have no qualms about the blood on her hands at the end of it. She'd offered him a way out of Novac and he'd accepted it. That he had fucked it all up with his drinking and jet use was entirely on him. He understood that. He wanted to find his freedom and to heal, to show her that he had changed. Maybe they could be something more than just "fuck buddies" as she had once called it.

Pushing through the junk door to the Square, Boone saw Crandon approaching, annoyance filling the age lines of his face.

"What's up?" he asked, gravel in his voice.

"Some squatters decided to take space where they don't belong, over by the playground," the older man motioned over his shoulder. "We'd prefer to keep 'em off the streets and out of sight. Maybe you could go and talk to them…convince them to see things our way."

/

The whiskey was terrible and the ice melting in it wasn't helping much. Vulpes had requested their top shelf liquor, but what he was swirling in his glass tasted more like the bottom shelf at the Ultra Luxe. He preferred to spend his time in the more upscale casino and was wondering why Jordan would consistently choose The Tops when a patron at a nearby table blew smoke in direction.

"Do you mind?" he snarled, looking over his shoulder at the offending woman. A sheepish apology preceded a scurried move to another table.

Turning his attention back to the bar, he watched with interest as a ghoul in a mechanic's uniform approached Jordan. It must have been Raul Tejada. There were reports that she occasionally traveled with a ghoul, but it wasn't often enough for his men to have any real intel on the matter.

Vulpes observed the two sharing a friendly conversation, Raul never moving to perch himself on a bar stool. After a hearty laugh, the decaying figure slapped Jordan on the back and began to move through the restaurant.

As he drew near, the Frumentarius flagged him down. "My good man, do you know that woman?"

Raul paused. People were rarely friendly towards him and when they were, it threw him off. He eyed the man who had called out to him, wondering who he was and why he cared. "I do," replied cautiously.

"What is she like? Is she everything they say she is?"

 _This again_ , Raul inwardly groaned. Without hesitation, he asserted, "I would fight the Legate with a spoon if she asked me to."

Vulpes didn't hide his surprise. "Those are bold words."

"They're not bold if they're true, boss," Raul said, shrugging nonchalantly.

Vulpes gestured to the table in front of him, inviting the older man to sit with him. "Have a seat. I'm interested to hear why you feel so strongly. You can call me Fox, by the way."

The ghoul shook his outstretched hand and took a chair diagonally from the well-dressed man. He supposed Fox was a businessman, given the pristine condition of his suit and the high dollar fedora laid on the table. "Raul."

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No, boss. I'm good."

"All right, then. So tell me," Vulpes settled back into his chair, bringing an ankle up to rest on his knee, "what about her would make you go to a certain death armed with nothing but flatware?"

He watched as the ghoul's eyes scanned an unseen horizon, looking for the right words. "Have you heard about Vault 3?"

" _I'm out," he shouted over the din of gunfire._

 _Before either of his companions could respond, a frag grenade bounced behind the pool table they had overturned for cover. Snatching it out of the air, Jordan launched it back into the recreation area and plugged her ears._

" _I'll be right back!" she promised in the blast's aftermath._

 _Scrambling towards a hallway that presumably lead to the upstairs balcony, she disappeared from sight, leaving only Veronica to keep the Fiends at bay. As the scribe fired wildly over the top of the table, Raul did his best to reload her extra magazines and cursed to himself. His hearing wasn't so great anymore, but he could feel the bastards getting closer. They wouldn't have long._

 _The last thing he saw before everything went black was the site of Jordan peaking around the corner with two ammo cans and a belt of grenades thrown over her shoulder._

 _Raul had no idea how much time had passed when he came to. The first image that he could make out was the slumped figure of Veronica on a mattress nearby and he hoped that she was still unconscious. The less she remembered, the better. Looking behind her, he surmised that they had been moved to the bowels of the vault. Towering power generators hummed around them and everything smelled of cold steel._

" _So you're awake."_

 _The ghoul was greeted by the site of a Fiend slouching on his makeshift throne, lazily stroking the scruffy dog beside him. Motor-Runner. The very person Jordan had been on the hunt for._

" _So are you."_

 _The fiend laughed heartily. "I like you. I might actually put you out of your misery before I let Donnie and Marie sink their teeth in." He paused a beat before continuing. "What are you doing in my vault?"_

 _Raul opened his mouth to answer, but a scream from somewhere else in the facility distracted them both._

" _Roy!" Motor-Runner beckoned. A scruffy young man with pale hair skittered into the room. "What the hell was that?"_

" _We don't know."_

" _Well find out, would you?" he demanded. With the other man gone, Motor-Runner turned his attention back to Raul. "You haven't answered my question."_

 _The ghoul refused to respond. It had not escaped his notice that Jordan was not with them. Either they were keeping her somewhere else, which was unlikely, or they had not caught her. Maybe if he could stall long enough, she could bail them out._

 _Rising to his feet, Motor-Runner crossed the space between them and brandished his Ripper. Its teeth were stained with rust and several were chipped. "I asked you a question."_

 _Raul gazed up at the Fiend. Maybe Jordan had ditched them. Maybe this was the end of a two-hundred year run. As he assessed his options, he felt his heart drop when Veronica began to stir._

" _Raul?"_

" _Oh!" the Fiend delighted. "Since you won't answer my questions, maybe she will."_

 _The ghoul struggled against his bindings as Motor-Runner strolled over to the scribe and yanked her head back. A slimy tongue snaked out and traced the curve of her cheek, drawing a whimper out of the woman. "Why are you here, darling?"_

" _Boss!" Roy bounded back into the room, the color draining from his face. "It's the other one. She killed Buzzer."_

" _Are you sure?"_

 _The young man held out the object he had been holding onto. A woman's head locked in a silent scream stared out at them, "tik tok" written in blood on her forehead._

" _You find that bitch and you kill her! You understand me? And take the fucking dogs with you!" Motor-Runner roared._

 _In his fury, he ignored the two prisoners sitting before him and began to pace. An hour dragged by, punctuated by the sounds of distant begging and shrill death notes. Uncertain of what to do, the Fiend eventually parked himself on his throne, torn between wanting to join in the hunt and wanting to keep his hostages from fleeing._

 _Raul had only been in Jordan's company for a couple weeks, not long enough to know the bounds of her loyalty. With each passing cry of pain, each plea for help, he wondered if the cruelty being visited on these Fiends was truly her doing. He hoped it was. Stealing a glance at Veronica, he noted that she appeared much more at peace with what was happening. Meeting his eyes, the scribe threw him a tense wink._

 _The springing of Motor-Runner's knee was halted by the blade of a bowie knife sinking into his shoulder. Raul's head snapped around in time to see Jordan stride authoritatively into the room. He had never been so relieved to see someone in his unnatural life as he was in that moment._

Raul rubbed the back of his neck. "She made him break before she killed him. She made sure my head stayed attached to my neck and that Veronica didn't meet a worse fate. Jordan's good people, boss. She's loyal and smart and doesn't take shit from anyone. They don't make 'em like her anymore."

Vulpes nodded his head. "So everything they say is true, then?"

"Every last damn thing."

"Hmmm," Fox hummed in thought. "Well, I won't keep you, Raul. Thank you for answering my questions."

"Sure thing, boss."

Vulpes watched the ghoul retreat into the casino. He didn't know if Jordan had developed a mental affliction or if she had an acute understanding of the value of psychological terror, but he was impressed. He absolutely had to know more.

* * *

 _A/N: I almost feel like this was a filler chapter, but not at the same time._ _*shrugs*_

 _See you next weekend :)  
_


	8. June 27, 2281

And I'm always dragging that horse around  
All of his questions such a mournful sound  
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground  
\- Florence & The Machine, "Shake It Out"

"Ow! Could you maybe move a little to the right?" Arcade said.

"Could you help me?"

"Fine. On the count of three."

Jordan shifted and wiggled on her friend's shoulders, adjusting to make him more comfortable while Rex watched with disinterest nearby.

"Screwdriver," she requested, hand stretched out below her.

Fishing the tool from his pocket, he asked, "Why are we doing this again?"

"I asked Old Lady Gibson to kill her dog. I'm paying her for it, but it doesn't feel like enough. Step to the left."

"And removing the gas light from the Poseidon Energy sign helps her how?"

"Whoa," Jordan exclaimed, latching onto her friend's platinum waves to steady herself. "She might be able to use some of the internal components for something."

"Right. I'll just defer to your judgement." He shuffled his footing in an effort to ease her weight. "And for the record, you are not the type of person I want pulling my hair."

Jordan chuckled, loosening the last of the screws. "What is your type, Arcade? You've never said. Here."

Pocketing the tool, he stilled while she removed the combat knife from its place on her thigh. "The same thing every boy wants. Tall, dark, and handsome. Intelligent, preferably."

"I can't imagine you with an idiot," she pointed out while cutting through the exposed wires.

"Neither can I."

Holding the weathered sign in one hand, Jordan sheathed her knife. "I'm coming down."

"Thank God."

With a grunt and a thump, Arcade felt her weight leave his body. After picking up their gear, the three headed up the road towards the Gibson Scrap Yard. Noticing his friend's frequent patting of her cyberdog, the doctor decided to comment on it.

"Something on your mind?"

"Hmm?"

"You keep touching Rex. Are you worried the brain won't be viable?"

"He has soft ears," she admitted. "And no. Just thinking."

"Want to share with the class?"

Casting a sideways glance, Jordan remained quiet for a moment. She didn't often like to share her thoughts with others, particularly when they were of a personal nature. Relenting, she finally said, "I keep wondering how long people will call me 'The Courier.' I don't deliver packages anymore."

"That's a valid inquiry," he replied. Adjusting his glasses, he continued, "But 'courier' means more than just mailman, or mailwoman as it were."

"How do you figure?"

Moving off of the main highway, the trio began to mount the small incline that lead towards the scrapyard.

"'Courier' comes from the Latin 'currere,' meaning to run. Couriers have also been used as messengers."

Jordan eyed him curiously. "Okay?"

"I don't know if you're running from something, but think of it this way. People look to you for hope. You're a messenger, a harbinger of better days to come. Maybe 'Courier' isn't such an awkward nickname?"

She nudged the doctor with her elbow. "Have you been practicing that?"

"What? No!" he blushed.

"It's okay. It was a solid speech." Her eyes twinkled. "I appreciate it."

As they neared their destination, Rex ran ahead of his two human companions, barking and playing with Gibson's dogs. Seeing Jordan and her friend approach, the older woman gave them a wave from her perch.

"Is it time?"

Jordan's expression was somber as she nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Rey's going to make sure we all get taken care of."

Motioning towards the Followers doctor, she explained, "I brought my friend to help out."

After a polite shaking of hands, Gibson gestured for Arcade to follower her. "C'mere, Rey. Mama's got something for ya," she called out.

Jordan chose to stay outside, not wanting to watch the operation. She knew that Rex was technically the King's dog, but she loved him all the same. He kept her warm on chilly nights and rarely strayed from her side when they were roughing it in the wastes. He alerted her to trouble, made her laugh when she wanted to sob hysterically, and made sure they ate well when they were out exploring. She trusted that cyberdog more than any living creature she'd met in a long time and though a part of her hated that Rey was dying for her benefit, she could no longer imagine a life without Rex.

The pup in question sauntered over from his playmates, plopping himself between his favorite human's feet and happily panting his noxious breath into her face. Jordan chuckled. The King would not be getting his dog back. She loved him too much.

Some minutes later Arcade and Gibson rejoined the living outside, the scientist carrying the late Rey while the woman carefully held onto the preservative-filled jar that now housed his brain. A shared look between the two had Arcade winding his way through the scrapyard, Rex following closely at his side.

"I dug a hole for him a few days ago," Gibson admitted.

"I'm sorry." Jordan's face wanted to crumple.

Passing off the jar of tissue to her, the older woman waved dismissively. "Stop apologizing. Rey gets to live on and the rest of us get to eat. Best thing for us."

Jordan nodded and grew quiet for a moment. She was trying to figure out what to say next when she spotted the gas light lying next to her pack. Pointing it out, she said, "I got that for you. Thought you might be able to use some of it for something. The payment is in the pocket next to it, too."

Watching Gibson retrieve her items and take them inside, Jordan decided to join her friends for the burial. Weaving through stacks of Old World cars and dry-rotted tires, she found them by the side of the building.

"Jordan, he won't let me bury Rey," Arcade informed her, wearing his most "responsible adult" face. When he had set the dog down by the gravesite so that he could climb in, Rex had laid beside the body, his head lying across its neck.

"Come here, boy," she said, setting the jar down beside her. She received a low whine in response, but still her dog did not move. Stroking his head, a careful thumb running between his eyes, Jordan tried again. "He's got to go to bed now, Rexy."

Slowly she pulled him away, embracing him softly and burying her face in his fur. Arcade worked quickly to lay Rey to rest. Though the pragmatic side of him groaned at performing so much labor for an animal, the hopelessly human side of him understood. People couldn't be trusted, but dogs were loyal to a fault. In the wastes, that was something worth holding onto.

/

Vulpes had waited in the ruins of Freeside for Jordan to return from wherever she had gone. Working his way into an abandoned shell of a building on the southeast side of the Strip's gate, he sat for hours, patiently watching the vermin below eek out their miserable existence. By his count four people had died outside his window that afternoon – one by securitron, three by murder. The cleansing the Legion would perform on that slum would be a beauty to watch.

As the sun began to slink its way behind Gomorrah, he found his diligence rewarded. Jordan, along with a Followers doctor and a cyberdog, strolled by, seemingly untouched by the human garbage around them. Snaking his way down through the building, Vulpes made it through the gate in time to see Jordan disappear into the Lucky 38.

Resigning himself to wait a few minutes more, he took a seat on a nearby bench and settled in. He'd chosen a set of cargo pants and a plain t-shirt for the day, blending in more easily with the riffraff that populated the area. His disguise worked well enough that when Jordan exited the casino some twenty minutes later, her merchant friend in tow, neither paid him any attention.

Hanging back, Vulpes kept a slow pace and allowed enough distance to grow between them so as not to cause suspicion. Passing through Freeside, he watched as Jordan paused to buy iguana meat and apples from a street vendor before giving them to a group of children who had spent their day chasing a rat. It did not escape his notice that as Jordan and her friend continued on, the children immediately sat down in the street to consume their gifts, the rodent already forgotten.

Into the wastes he gingerly trailed behind them, skirting the North Vegas Square and heading towards Westside. Before he could speculate on another humanitarian mission, he was surprised to see the pair slip under the manhole cover that led to The Thorn. Drawing closer, he took note of a faded metal sign hanging from the club's ramshackle awning. Fight Night.

Vulpes had only been to The Thorn once before when he was mapping out the tunnels under New Vegas. It had smelled like an animal pen – all sweat and blood with undertones of excrement. The aroma had not changed since then and he scrunched his nose in disgust. _Why would Jordan come to a shithole like this?_ he wondered.

Working his way through the throngs of people, he quickly realized what had made the evening so popular. No geckos, radscorpions, or deathclaws would be featured in the matches. It was all human, with higher buy-ins and alcohol flowing like the waters of Lake Mead. Finding a spot on a darkened catwalk, Vulpes made himself comfortable. From where he stood, leaning against the railing, he could see both the fights below as well as Jordan, who was currently speaking to a short-haired woman in a leather duster.

Three matches later, she vanished from sight. Seeing that the merchant she traveled with was still conversing with the trench coat, he allowed his eyes to drift among the crowds. Perhaps she had spotted a friendly face? Or maybe taken a bathroom break? His inner monologue of theories came to a slow halt as the cage doors below screeched open.

From the red gate, a man wearing goat horns on his head emerged, looking as though the South Vegas Ruins might be a place he called home. Watching him bound around the arena, Vulpes concluded that the fighter was high, likely on jet or psycho, but was still a formidable figure. It was possible the fiend was one of Cook-Cook's men, his physique absent the usual signs of a starving addict.

When the blue gate creaked open, Vulpes felt the world lag around him for the second time. Stripped down to a pair of boots, trousers, and a tank top, Jordan cruised into the rink with deliberate confidence. Keeping a calmness about her, she studied her opponent, watching him as he continued to showboat to the masses.

"No way, man. She won't last a minute. He's got _at least_ 20 pounds on her."

Vulpes's attention was rerouted to the people around him, a flurry of money exchanging hands. They were counting on Jordan to lose. Tension settled into his shoulders at the thought.

At the echo of a steel clap, Goat Horns set in, swinging enthusiastically but failing to hit his mark. Jordan dodged, landing a punch on his ribs before catching his leg with her side. She retreated, staying slightly out of reach through several attacks, waiting until she could anticipate his next move. When his leg swung out again, she was ready. As his boot moved to connect with her ribs, Jordan blocked, grabbing his leg in the process. Shoving his upper body off balance, she swept her leg behind his other, slamming him into the concrete.

As Goat Horns had fallen, she had kept hold of his leg, forcing him to land on his neck. Momentarily dazed, he was barely able to fend off her attack as she straddled him, raining blows onto his face and ribs. To Jordan's surprise, her opponent bucked his hips and she tumbled forward, hands saving her face from an unwelcome kiss of concrete. Seizing the moment, Goat Horns reversed their positions, rolling them so that he sat atop her, straddling one of her legs.

Vulpes was almost certain Jordan was done for. She was pinned underneath a larger man who was landing hits to her face and torso as the Legionary watched. Many of the men that he had met in combat would often panic in such a position, having lost the upper hand and their instincts screaming at them to protect their face. Yet Jordan proved different.

Still attempting to block Goat Horns' attacks, her palm shot out, landing underneath his nose and forcing his head to the side. With his neck exposed, she punched him twice before flattening her hand and striking his carotid with the edge of her palm. The Fiend's body went limp, consciousness having fled him for the moment, and slumped onto her. Shuffling around, Jordan worked the man off of her and rose to her feet before spitting a glob of blood onto the floor. From his spot on the catwalk, Vulpes could see the faint lines of a smirk as she walked out of the arena.

The crowd cheering around him, he simply smiled. She, too, had grown stronger and wiser in the wastes. He would have to come out of the shadows soon and reintroduce himself. Jordan was a mesmerizing enigma and he needed to know her again.

* * *

 _A/N: Rex gave me a sad :( Massive things happening in the next chapter, though. Can't wait to share it with you!_

 _See you next weekend XD_


	9. June 29, 2281

Do I remind you of  
Somewhere you wanna be  
So far out of reach  
Ohh I wish you'd open up for me  
'Cause I wanna know you  
\- Shinedown, "Amaryllis"

Jordan sat leaning against the bar at The Tops, swirling her whiskey and Nuka in her glass and thinking about her visit with Raul. She had gone to see him the day before, taking a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla and a bag full of random parts he could use when making repairs. As usual, he rebuffed her efforts in convincing him to move into the Lucky 38. "The place is a tomb. Not somewhere I want to spend a lot of time," he had told her.

She supposed she liked Raul the most out of her little group of friends. He might have been grumpy half the time and his sarcasm got old on occasion, but he had lived more than anyone else she knew. Jordan talked to him more than the others because he understood life, death, loss, and loneliness in a way that they did not. He knew what it was like to have some irreplaceable part of yourself ripped away from you, taken by lesser men and gone forever. The ghoul also had a decent taste in liquor and was a veritable goldmine of Old World knowledge. She could spend hours picking his brain and Raul would always bring life to a world that seemed to only exist in the faded pages of the dusty books she read. The world was going to lose a bright light the day he finally passed on.

The trek back into New Vegas had not been without its surprises, though. Jordan had elected to stop by the medical clinic for an update on Boone when she ran into the man himself.

"Jordan," he breathed.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had not wanted to see him. "Oh, hey, Boone."

"How are you? You look great." He took a tentative step forward and she willed herself to be still.

"I'm doing all right. How about you?"

The sniper chuckled and shifted on his feet. "I'm good. Dr. Usanagi has been working with me on a lot of things." A heavy pause. "I'm getting better, Jordan."

"I-I'm glad to hear that," she said. Could this conversation be any more painful?

Another step forward. Boone was now dangerously close to her personal space. "When my therapy is done, I'd like to spend some time with you – out in the wastes, like we used to."

Yes, this conversation actually could be more agonizing. "We'll see what Usanagi thinks is best. How about that?" His brief nod spurred her onward. "Listen, I need to get going. I'm here to see about a perception implant. You keep taking care of yourself, okay?"

His somber, puppy eyes followed her back as she disappeared into the clinic. She hoped he had not seen through her lie.

What Jordan had learned from Usanagi was troubling, but not entirely surprising. The Followers doctor had told her that Boone had thrown himself headlong into therapy and was forcing improvement at a breakneck pace. She was trying to slow him down, make him take more time in thinking things over, but he wasn't having it. His goal in life was to be at Jordan's side again and Usanagi worried that if presented with a stumbling block, he would fail spectacularly in managing it. In short, he was still suicidal and still dancing on a needle's point.

Sighing, Jordan tossed back the last of her cocktail and was signaling the bartender for another when she felt the air shift. A tall, muscular businessman had taken up residence on the stool next to her. She ignored him, focusing instead on the dark concoction being poured into her glass. Between Boone's therapy and Yes Man's plans, she just wanted to relax in peace for a bit.

"Careful with that, Rett. You always were a lightweight with the hard stuff."

Jordan froze, glass halfway to her lips. She could feel her heart race and her blood running cold all at once. No one had used that nickname in ten years. The only ones who had ever called her that were dead and no one alive knew that her last name was Everett. There was no reason anyone anywhere should be calling her that. Slowly turning her head to the man at her right, she nearly dropped her glass.

A smile she had not seen in a decade was gracing the man's chiseled features and his eyes lit up in a pure, electric blue. She felt the desire to laugh, scream, cry, and run away flood through her in an instant, yet she remained frozen on her stool.

"H-how?" she stammered.

He leaned in conspiratorially, his smile shifting to a smirk. "How about we get out of here?"

Jordan's voice caught in her throat. She stared at him blankly, not knowing how to move or what to do, until his eyebrows raised and a silky laughed flowed over her.  
"Uh yeah. I-I know…a place." She left a small pile of caps on the bar and motioned for him to follow.

If she was being honest with herself, Jordan thought she might be on the verge of a panic attack. The leather armor that had been comfortable all day suddenly felt three sizes too small and she couldn't stop the tremor in her hands. Moving through The Tops on autopilot, she never dared to look at the man beside her.

This can't be real. Am I in the Big Empty? Is this some sort of fucked up dream they're giving me? she wondered.

When the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor, Jordan led the man down the hall to a room on the southern end. She'd found this hideaway after she had taken care of Benny and lifted his keys. It became her refuge sometimes when she wanted a decent view without being bothered.

Unlocking the hotel door, she ushered him into the shell of a room. The exterior walls had crumbled away and much of the furniture was gone, save for a chair and a crate full of Nuka-Cola. As he took in the scenery, a unique view of the Strip looking towards Freeside, Jordan shut the door and paused to stare at her feet. What the fuck do I do now?

She turned and paused again before taking a halting step forward. Her mind was racing, trying desperately to work out the finer details of how to form words. Failing that, she began to pace about the room when he turned to face her.

"H-how? Why? What hap- Just…shit."

Taking her trembling hands in his, Vulpes stilled her nervous and erratic movements. He studied her for a moment. Gone was the confidence and decisiveness he had observed in the past weeks. Her wit had fled, too, leaving behind a woman who was almost ordinary. It was easy to see the tears forming in her eyes when she finally looked at him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Her thoughts were being made all the more erratic by the warmth of his hands and the foreign feeling of being touched in such a familiar and intimate way. "This is a lot to take in. I thought you were dead."

He nodded. "I thought the same of you."

Jordan moved past him, taking a seat on the floor near the edge and dropping her head into her hands. Vulpes quietly sat down beside her, removing his fedora and loosely wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Imagine my surprise when you walked in to Caesar's tent, revealing yourself as both the Courier and the woman from Nipton. You had been in front of me for weeks and I could not see it."

Her head snapped around her disbelief, eyes delving into the past. "That was you…next to Caesar? And in the dog's head in Nipton?" She grew quiet again. "I didn't see it either."

Vulpes allowed his eyes to rake over her face. The emotion she was fighting to contain was still legible in the furrow of her brow and the biting of her lip. "How did you survive?"

"I…" her voice trailed off. She often shunned her memories of that day, the smells, the sounds, and the dirt under her palms. The only time she acknowledged them was when they tore at her from the depths of her sleep. Jordan's voice was hollow when she finally continued. "I had been working with Mom in the garden when we heard the shouting. She told me to run, to head for the Vault, but it was too late. A Legionary rounded the corner of the house and she tried to stall him so I could get away, but it didn't work."

"I ran through the cornfield and tried to lose him, but I couldn't run fast enough. My legs just wouldn't do it. So I turned back toward the house and dove into the cellar before he made it out." Her voice grew soft and Vulpes could see the hopelessness from long ago in her eyes. "They set fire to the house, but I stayed down there for as long as I could. I heard my grandfather begging for his life, for Mom's. I heard the gunshots, then silence. When I finally crawled out, I was the only one alive. I don't know what happened to Mom, but I found Dad on top of a burn pile."

Jordan wiped a stray tear from her cheek and turned her focus on him. "I looked for you – in the houses, the vault, the barn, the fields - but I eventually gave up. I thought you might have been buried in one of the burn piles. I stayed in the barn for a few days, scavenging what I could from what was left of our village, but once I left I never looked back." She didn't have to tell him about the screaming and begging she had done when she saw the light of day, didn't have to mention the tears that didn't stop for days. He knew who she had been then.

Vulpes nodded his head once more. The sounds of drunken revelers far below drifted up, but he was lost in thought. They'd lived in southern Utah, near the base of Shay Mountain. Their parents had been the last generation to have lived in Vault 32, a control vault with no known social experiments implemented. When the bunker had finally opened, the remaining populace had set up a small community on the banks of a nearby river. Having been far from any targeted city, the area had largely been spared by radiation. The day the Legion came, however, Vulpes learned the hard way that they had been raised in a miniature paradise, tucked away from the ills of the world.

"What about you?" Jordan croaked.

"I saw you run into the cellar," he admitted. "That prime wasn't far behind you. They had put me in a line to be executed and I had just watched them kill both my father and yours when I saw you. When he started to reach for the cellar doors, I ran. Two veterans tackled me before I got very far, so I screamed and pleaded for them to take me instead."

"Why? Why did they take you?"

"Because Mother had taught me Latin and I begged in their tongue," he confessed. Jordan remembered then all of the hours he had spent chanting Latin songs and poems in his efforts to learn. Her own parents had elected to teach her French, a spectacularly useless language in that corner of the Wasteland.

"The centurion agreed and I thought I had saved you - until they lit the house on fire." Vulpes had often regretted the naïveté of his nineteen-year-old self.

"What happened to our moms? And your sister?"

He cleared his throat. He had not thought of those three in a long time. "I heard they committed suicide in slave pen in Flagstaff. I can't say I was surprised." They had been proud women. Life in a collar would have been a fate worse than death in their eyes.

"Ten years," Jordan whispered. "I've been alone for ten years. I thought everyone I loved was dead and that the Legion had taken everything from me."

"The Legion did take everything. I'm not the foolish child I was then and I suspect that you aren't either."

Jordan stayed quiet for a long while, her eyes staring at some fixed point, lost in space and time. She had learned a lot about the Legion over the years. Males over a certain age were usually killed instead of indoctrinated and the Bull had a penchant for stripping a person's identity and imposing its own. "What do they call you now?"

He gave a bitter smile. "Vulpes Inculta, or Mr. Fox to business associates."

"Oh," she said, a melancholy tone seeping into her voice. "I've heard about you." She paused, recalling the rumors. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you have someone lovely waiting for you."

Vulpes inwardly cringed as his hand darted out to keep her from leaving. He had taken great care to build the reputation of smooth-talking womanizer with a taste for high-dollar booze. It allowed him to move more freely among the profligates and kept any suspicion of Legion activity from being thrown on him. It also gave him access to social circles the Average Joe would be excluded from. Yet now Jordan seemed to think it meant a sleazy broad from the Strip was more deserving of his time than she was or that perhaps he was a kept man. It was not what he wanted her to think.

"I don't have anyone, much to Caesar's dismay." He released her as quickly as he had restrained her, turning his gaze back to the world outside. He might have gone from one woman to the next, even sleeping with his commander's concubine, but it didn't mean that they held any real value to him. They were pawns in a game of his own design and he was beholden to none of them.

Jordan stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Truth be told, she wasn't certain of what to think. The love of her life was back from the presumed dead and had been sexing his way through the Strip for months, maybe years, all the while spying for his tyrant of a leader. What exactly was she supposed to do with that revelation? "What happens next?"

Vulpes hesitated, eyes briefly flicking to her lips. He was a master strategist, but some plots took more time than others and this was one of them. Yes, Caesar was having her watched, and yes, Caesar had told him to reach out to her. He wasn't there for the imperator, though. He had sought her out for his own selfish motivations. He needed to figure out where the hell he planned on going with all of it before things went any further.

"You're being watched. Caesar has eyes on the Strip, so be mindful of your actions when you're out."

"That's not what I meant."

He knew that, of course, but wanted her to be aware anyway. "I don't know.""

Jordan watched as he began to rise to his feet to leave. "Where are you staying?"

"The Ultra Luxe."

"For how long?"

Vulpes smiled wryly. "I don't know yet. Rapidly changing conditions make it a bit difficult to determine."

Uncertain of what else to say, he collected himself and headed for the door. The urge to touch Jordan, to see if her lips were as soft as he remembered, had nearly won. He could tell already that whatever the hell he was doing with her was a monumentally bad idea. The problem was, he was already too curious to stop.

"Hey," she said gently. "What do I call you?"

"Fox when in the presence of others, but by my Legion name otherwise. It's safest that way," he said and disappeared, leaving Jordan alone with her thoughts.

/

Arcade shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Cass and Veronica had invited him out the Atomic Wrangler, and he had happily accepted to get out of the Old Mormon Fort for a few hours. Now, however, the conversation was edging into territory he found troublesome.

"What? The King? No," Cass said with a laugh.

"Oh, come on! The King of Freeside, the Queen of New Vegas. They'd make a cute couple!" Veronica grinned, tucking a stray wisp of umber hair behind her ear.

Cass finished off her drink and twirled her empty glass on the table. "Nah, I think Boone was more her speed."

"But he's in therapy," the scribe whispered comically.

"He's the only guy we know for a fact that she's slept with! He must have done something right!"

Veronica eyed Arcade mischievously. "What do you think?"

"I don't think Jordan's sex life is any of our business," he said, once again wiggling about in his seat.

"Of course it's not," Cass said dismissively. "That's why it's so fun to talk about."

"You're a stick in the radioactive mud sometimes," Veronica whined. "I'm going for another. Want a refill?"

The merchant slid her glass across the table before leaning back in the derelict chair. Arcade observed her as she watched their friend go, eyes trailing down the woman's back until they landed on her posterior. Noticing the doctor's eyebrows rocket skyward, Cass blushed and attempted to cover her tracks, sliding her gaze to the man at the table beside them.

"That's new," Arcade noted.

She scowled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh."

Cass leaned forward, interlacing her fingers and hunching over the table as she waited for Veronica to return with their drinks. "Shut up."

/

Vulpes extricated himself from the sheets, not bothering to cover up on his way to the bathroom. He had zero qualms with his body and he suspected that the woman lying satisfied and trembling in the bed behind him didn't either. Quickly cleaning himself up and throwing on his boxers and slacks, he exited the tiled room to search for his shirt.

Finding his shoes first, he thought over the last hour as he put them on. He'd found Whatever Her Name Was in a hallway on his trek back to his rented room. She was attractive enough, with corn silk waves brushing against her tanned shoulders and wide caramel eyes staring back at him. Nothing at all like Jordan. She had giggled when he passed, the soft sound pulling him from his thoughts. Despite the gold ring on her hand, she had flirted and teased, pressing herself against him until Vulpes decided that a distraction was precisely what he needed.

She wasn't a terrible lay, but he could tell he wasn't her first dalliance. Grabbing his shirt from the wardrobe's knob, Vulpes decided he didn't care. If her husband was so inattentive that she sought fun in someone else's embrace, then that was Mr. Whatever Her Name Was's problem. He was up the woman's skirt because he could be and she enjoyed it – really enjoyed it.

Before he could slide the shirt up his arms and onto his back, Vulpes heard her gasp. His mood instantly tanked. "Oh my God. What's wrong with your back?"

She had not noticed? He thought back to their various positions – on her knees, her on top, him behind. She likely hadn't had the opportunity to see it. "Business deal with the Legion went sour," he explained with practiced nonchalance.

"Oh, that's awful," she exclaimed. "Please put your shirt on."

Vulpes hid the curl of his lip from her. He liked his scars, was proud of them even. This was the only upside to sleeping with Felina. She knew where the raised streaks of flesh had come from – everyone in the Legion knew – and didn't act as though they made him a freak of nature.

Shutting the door behind him on his way out, Vulpes wondered what Jordan's response would be if she ever saw them. Would she flinch away or would she pretend like she had not seen them?

* * *

 _A/N: Ahhh! Holy shit. Vulpes came out of the shadows and Cass's eyes are wandering about. We're throwing this thing into gear now and I am so excited to share the road ahead with you._

 _I would have posted this sooner, but FF has been down for me. Sorry about that! See you next weekend!_


	10. July 2, 2281

That nuclear power flowing under your skin  
Yeah, you make me nervous 'cause my defense is worthless  
You get under my skin, hey  
What kind of voodoo do you do?  
\- Allen Stone, "Voodoo"

"What the hell are you doing?" Jordan muttered to herself while she paced a hole into the Ultra Luxe's floor. "You're going to look like a fucking idiot, like some stupid vault girl with a crush. You should leave before-"

Her self-criticism caught in her throat. Across the way, a door opened and Vulpes ambled through, a brooding expression sharpening his features. As he approached the Guest Services desk, concern gave way to delight at the sight of Jordan waiting for him.

"Marjorie said I had a guest," he sauntered to a stop mere inches from her. "She didn't mention it was one as beautiful as you." _Lay it on thick like an idiot, too, asshole_ , he chided himself. It was much too soon for serious flirting, but the line had fallen out of his mouth without warning. Her refusal to back away from the intrusion of her personal space left him uncertain, but the blush creeping into her cheeks gave him hope.

Jordan stumbled through her words. The inability to speak smoothly was already becoming a regular side effect of his presence and she did not like it one bit. "Uh, so some friends and I are headed to Jacobstown for a few days. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"Sure," he agreed. Studying her, Vulpes realized her blush was intensifying ever so slightly. "I have nothing else to do." That was a lie. He did have other things to do, but this sounded much more entertaining.

Jordan's elation pissed her off. _Damn it. You_ _are_ _a stupid vault girl_ , she thought. "Okay. Meet us outside the 38 when you're ready."

Thirty minutes later, Vulpes strolled up to the small group waiting on the restricted casino's steps. For the entirety of the last half hour, he had derided himself. He should not have been flirting with Jordan and he should have been agreeing to the trip as a means of persuasion on behalf of the Legion. Yet he could not bring himself to feel guilty for making her stumble through their meeting, clearly nervous about it from start to finish. He did, however, feel a tinge of remorse for agreeing to accompany her without a thought to Caesar. It was an emotion he violently suppressed.

Jordan had given her friends notice that someone else would be joining them and upon his arrival, they eagerly stood while the cyberdog pranced amongst them. The scribe was the first to extend her hand, a warm smile reaching her cinnamon eyes, while the merchant held back a moment, sizing him up. Vulpes knew each of her friends from the Legion's intelligence profiles on them and that one exuded potential headaches for him.

"Fox," he provided, shaking hands with the two women.

"That's it?" the redhead inquired.

He gave a slight nod. "Yes."

"Easy enough." The shorter brunette smiled. "Is Arcade coming?"

Jordan shook her head. "No, Julie needed him today."

"Aw, man. He would have loved this adventure."

/

Vulpes tugged at the collar of his shirt. He had chosen that particular set of armor because of the red top that came with it – a reticent nod to his true allegiance – and despite having often worn it, the turtleneck always bothered him. Each time he donned it, he wondered why he had not cut it away the previous time.

It was growing late in the day, approaching the hour when the sun would fade into the distance. They had been walking since mid-morning, only stopping for necessary breaks, and the snowy peak of Mt. Charleston was coming into view again. During the most recent stretch of their ascent, Vulpes had wondered why Jordan would go to such lengths to prolong the life of a mere dog. Scouring the wastes, procuring a brain, preserving it, and hiking out to the middle of nowhere to have it surgically installed was a bit much for such a replaceable companion in his opinion.

He was enjoying the view of Jordan's ass in leather when he heard the telltale buzzing. Reaching out, he tugged on her belt, throwing a finger to his lips when she turned to him. As she paused, her friends came to a halt, the merchant casting a questioning look. When Jordan finally heard it, Vulpes saw the frustration and disappointment wash over her face and heard the whispered "fuck" from her lips.

"Cazadores," she mouthed as the droning grew closer. The Mojave's favorite bee.

His Ripper already drawn, Vulpes was pleased to see the others ready their own weapons. When the cazadores spilled over the rock formations on the south side of the road, he lunged forward, hacking away at the nearest insect. A moment later, he saw Jordan crash to her knees from the corner of his eye before sprawling onto her back.

With the cazadore in front of him finished, Vulpes sprinted towards her, gutting another monstrosity on his way. While the other two women mopped up the remnants, he dropped beside her, checking frantically for puncture wounds. He always carried antivenom with him, but it was a precious commodity and he needed to be sure before administering it. It wasn't until he scanned her face that he noticed the smears and faded green splatters.

Jordan tried to open her eyes, but the burning sensation made it a struggle. She had been struck by cazadores before and it was never a pleasant experience, but having their poison sprayed in her eyes was new. Summoning a little extra courage, she forced her eyes open.

Everything was blurry. The face hovering above hers could have been Veronica's or Vulpes's, but the warm, calloused hands supporting her head and neck were all Legionary. She could barely make out the movement of his arm behind him, motioning for something from someone.

"Fox?" she whimpered.

"I'm here."

A ceramic bottle pressed against her lips. She knew the liquid inside would be bitter, the kind of taste that lingers in the mouth for hours, but she obeyed.

"Keep your eyes open," Vulpes commanded. Taking a bottle of purified water from the scribe, he slowly poured its contents over her, washing away any remaining venom. She struggled to hold still, fists slamming into the concrete beneath her as she grit her teeth. "How much further do we have to go?"

"30 minutes, give or take," Jordan croaked.

"Can you make it?"

"If someone leads me." She still couldn't see well and it terrified her. Would the vision loss be permanent?

Vulpes slowly helped her to her feet. Taking her by the hand, he led her up the last few climbs, cautioning her against breaks in the road and sections of loose gravel. Two steady gazes bored into his back for the remainder of the way. Jordan's companions were judging him, deciding if he was gentle and patient enough. It was fine with him. The mockery and ridicule that Caesar or Lanius would throw at him for helping an injured woman would have been far worse than their silent stares.

Vulpes slowed them to a stop and Jordan felt the rumble of heavy steps coming towards her. From where she stood, she could make out the figure of Rex bounding forward, barking and playing with the green blob lurching towards them.

"Jordan?" came a thundering voice. "Are you okay?"

It must have been obvious. "Marcus? I need to see Dr. Henry. I can't see very well."

"He's in his lab," a blur extended in front of her. "Come with me."

The Super Mutant's hand swallowed her own and half of her forearm, making the walk awkward, but she didn't mind. The longer Jordan held on to Vulpes and depended on him, the more she could feel herself start to burn from the inside. Jitters had coursed through her, increasing with every ghosting of his breath and squeeze of his hand. Marcus had unknowingly given her a break.

Climbing the steps to the lodge, the Super Mutant paused. Turning to his friend's companions, he addressed them. "You're free to walk around, just don't stare at the Nightkin. They don't like people looking at them. And welcome to Jacobstown, humans."

Jordan squeezed his finger, indicating her gratitude for his welcome. She had told them the settlement was populated almost entirely by mutants, but seeing it up close and in person was likely still a shock to them. Passing through the door and into the lobby, Jordan smiled to herself. Air conditioning was easily the greatest human invention of all time.

Stepping into the medical lab, the group was greeted by the strong scent of chemicals and the usual charisma of Dr. Henry. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Dr. Henry, I believe you have a patient," Marcus rumbled.

The aging man came into view, leaning in to inspect Jordan. "What's wrong with you?"

"Cazadore venom in my eyes."

He whistled, his weathered skin wrinkling in delight. "I bet you can't see worth shit right now, can you?"

"Not really," Jordan chuckled.

Allowing the doctor to help her to the exam table, she listened as Vulpes recounted the steps he had taken immediately following her injury. She hissed in pain and flinched when a bright yellow light passed in front of her face.

"How many fingers?"

"Three?"

"What's the equipment on the other side of the room?"

Jordan furrowed her brows. "You know I couldn't name even if I could see it." _Jerk_.

The doctor snickered. "I'd say you've got a case of temporary blindness. Should be gone by morning."

"Does she need to do anything else?" Vulpes asked.

"Don't get sprayed again and don't stare at bright lights. All things you shouldn't be doing anyway."

Jordan let herself down from the table, but held on to it for the peace of mind it gave her. "While I have your attention, I have a new brain for Rex. It's from Rey, one of Old Lady Gibson's dogs."

Veronica stepped forward, depositing her pack on the table and removing the jar. A petite brain floated through a thick, gel-like substance, devoid of the black streaks currently adorning Rex's own.

"All right," Dr. Henry said, taking it out and inspecting it under an illuminated magnifier. "Let's see here. Neural pathways look good. Definitely a breed of guard dog." He glanced at Jordan. "If I transplant this brain into Rex, he'll be a bit more ferocious in his attacks."

"Do it."

He nodded. "We'll do it in the morning then. But first, dinner."

Jordan felt Vulpes take her hand to lead her to the kitchen. It was going to be a long night if her vision didn't improve.

/

"Damn it," Veronica muttered. Jordan had informed the group that they would have to stay in the bungalows on the eastern edge of the property, citing Marcus's wish to keep the Nightkin happy. Three of them were not boarded up, but the one closest to the lodge was locked. With her friend's eyesight still not up to snuff, Veronica had offered to try her hand at picking it, but the pins weren't budging. "It's too rusted. I can't get in."

"So who's bunking with who?" Cass asked. She wasn't going to bother offering. Lock-picking was Jordan's thing, Veronica's was technology, and her own was both haggling and drinking. The trio had generally agreed to stick to their strengths after Jordan once shot a computer she failed to hack.

Silence settled over the group. Neither the scribe nor the merchant were in a hurry to share space with the newcomer. He seemed a decent fellow, but they had only met him that morning.

Jordan shook her head and began to slowly walk away from her friends, fingers running along the side of the building as she went. "It doesn't matter to me, but I'm taking this one." Unbeknownst to them, she'd stayed in the cottages before. The one that stood a few doors down was the clean one.

Five minutes later, Vulpes entered the little bungalow, a perplexed expression on his face. Veronica had argued that Jordan needed a good caretaker, something he had already proven himself to be, and threw him a wink when he approached the front door. She was trouble, that one.

Hearing the door shut, Jordan exited the bathroom. Her vision had improved over the course of the evening, but the finer details of things remained hazy enough to give her a headache. Reading anything smaller than a magazine title was impossible, but she'd been able to wash her face and change her clothes for bed. It surprised her, however, when she came into the room to find Vulpes leaning against the door.

Seeing the shock register on her face, the Legionary smiled. "Only one bed."

"You take it. The floor doesn't bother me."

"What? No," he balked. "We can share it or you can take it, but you're not sleeping on the floor."

Jordan sighed. "Rochambeau? Loser takes the floor."

Readying their fists like they did as children, they threw on the third count.

"Paper covers rock," Vulpes announced.

Snatching a pillow from the bed, Jordan shrugged. "Fine by me. See you in the morning."

As she settled into a relatively dust-free spot by the fireplace, she smiled to herself. She could still read him.

/

 _He could feel the panic rising in his chest as his knees hit the dirt. Jordan was missing, and his mother and sister had already been collared, waiting to be led away. Down the line, he listened as community elders and grown men were executed one by one, the gunshots growing closer to him._

 _He couldn't stop the flinch that racked his body as his own father hit the dirt, vacant eyes staring back at him. Beside him, John began to beg for his life. He stared ahead, unwilling to follow suit and not wanting to watch the man die._

 _A rustle in the corn stalks behind his home caught his attention. In a flash, Jordan was out and diving for the cellar, one of the men in red not far behind her. As the man reached for the cellar doors, he bolted from his spot. Even if he died, he had to protect her, to keep these bastards from her._

"No!"

The shout roused Jordan from her sleep, her hand immediately finding the pistol that lay beside her. Scanning the darkened room, she could barely make out the figure of Vulpes, thrashing violently in the bed. He was speaking in Latin now, his voice laced with terror.

Abandoning her sidearm, Jordan moved deftly through the room, turning on the light of her PipBoy as she went. She moved to sit beside him, taking one hand in hers while the other cupped his face.

"Hey, hey," she said softly. "Wake up. You're safe."

Still he struggled and when his fist swung out, the feeling of it connecting with flesh and bone woke him. Vulpes was startled to see Jordan gripping his clenched hand. She had caught it inches from her face.

"You, too, huh?"

He swallowed, his chest still heaving with labored breath. "I'm sorry. It doesn't happen often."

"Mine neither." A twitch of her lips gave way to a soft smile.

He watched with a warring blend of embarrassment and trepidation as she let go of his fist and moved her hand to rest on his neck. The feel of her thumb stroking the edge of his jaw calmed him more than it should have.

She studied his eyes for moment. "Go back to sleep," she whispered. "They won't come for you again tonight."

* * *

 _A/N: I can't help but laugh at Veronica in this chapter. She's such a fun character and I always imagined she would be a blast to hang out with. I was going to comment on the Fallout Science of Rex's predicament, but then I remembered that there is a Russian man who is scheduled to undergo a first-ever head transplant next year. I thought to myself then, perhaps we are catching up and someday swapping out a brain won't be so science fiction-y?_

 _Also, I want to say how amazing it is to see where you all are reading from. Some of you are from countries that are quite literally on the other side of the world from me. It is incredibly thrilling and humbling!_

 _See you next weekend XD_


	11. July 3, 2281

I'm sorry to interrupt, it's just I'm constantly on the cusp  
Of trying to kiss you  
I don't know if you feel the same as I do  
\- Arctic Monkeys, "Do I Wanna Know"

Jordan was an internal mess. Since Rex's operation had gotten underway two hours ago, she had wandered aimlessly around the Jacobstown property, looking for anything that might keep her distracted. Early on she had successfully broken into the locked bungalow, but its messy interior had only captivated her for a brief time. Her friends, having long since grown tired of watching her restlessness, had settled in on the benches by the pond out front of the lodge. She, however, had immersed herself in a long talk with Lily in the Bighorner pen when Calamity exited the lodge.

"Dr. Henry said to tell you the surgery was a success," her gruff tones informed as she approached. Behind her, Vulpes and the others began to venture over.

"Can I see him?"

The ghoul shook her head. "No, he's resting right now. You can see him this evening." Seeing the woman's acceptance, Calamity continued. "You may want to steer clear of Dr. Henry, too. He can get very cranky after procedures."

Jordan nodded. "Thank you, Calamity."

The ghoul smiled and strode away, but before Lily could resume her story about life in Vault 17, Marcus came bounding up to the small group.

"Got a problem, could use your help," he said through labored breaths. "Been having trouble with NCR mercs harassing the town, and they just showed up again."

Jordan stood a little straighter. The worry over Rex had passed and a new challenge was presenting itself. "What would you like for me to do?"

"You're human - they _might_ be willing to be listen to what you have to say. Maybe." As an afterthought, he added, "I'm not asking you to kill them."

"How have they been harassing the town?" she asked. It was always in her best interest to gather as much information as she could. Wasteland miscreants never expected much out of a woman.

"Killing our Bighorners, shooting at the lodge, that sort of thing. It's getting hard to keep people from retaliating." Marcus shifted his weight and eyed the road out of town.

"And you're sure they work for the Republic?"

The mutant frowned, having not considered the idea that someone else would want to do them harm. "Guess I can't say for sure if they're NCR." His eyes drifted again towards the exit. "Whoever they are, they want us dead or gone."

"Okay." Jordan checked the pistol at her side and the rifle on her back for rounds. "How many are there?"

"Five."

Vulpes observed the of tilt her head and the set of her jaw, calculations running through her mind.

"All right, I'm good," she said to herself before turning to leave.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked. He wanted to observe the way she handled such situations. Behind him he heard a low, barely stifled snort of laughter from Veronica.

"By all means," she said over her shoulder.

As they neared the town's entrance, Vulpes broke the silence between them. "What do you plan on doing?"

"Talk to them, probably threaten them. Kill them if I have to."

"Why use violence as your last resort?" He was genuinely curious about her reasoning. In the Legion, only the Frumentarii operated in that manner. Everyone else preferred to kill on sight.

Jordan glanced at him, readjusting the rifle sling that lay across her chest. "If I kill them then the message their employers will receive is that they were right – the mutants at Jacobstown are dangerous and should be put down. If I convince them to leave, preferably unharmed, the message is different."

Vulpes agreed, but kept quiet as she slowed to a stop in front of the lead mercenary. They could discuss the finer points of strategy later.

"Our business is with the muties, not you," the man said.

Jordan gave an easy smile in return. She enjoyed it when, on occasion, people came at her with assumptions and shitty attitudes. It made breaking them down more satisfying. "What do you want with Jacobstown?"

"Just doing what I'm paid to do - harass the muties until they leave or attack us. If they leave, we let 'em go. If they attack, we wipe them out. Either way, the job's not done until they've cleared out of the town."

Vulpes took note of the unnatural stillness filling his limbs. The pay must have been hefty to make the profligate trudge up a mountain and try to kill a town full of ten foot tall super mutants with nothing more than mid-grade armor and four friends. _Typical_ , he thought.

"Who's paying you?"

The relaxed manner in which Jordan conducted herself did not escape his notice, either. Light armor, two – no, three – weapons strapped to her body, and she was confronting a paid killer with all the ease of someone ordering a drink at a bar. It made him question the roads she had traveled in the last ten years.

"Won't name names, but some important folks in the NCR are sick of muties attacking their Brahmin herds. They want them gone from NCR territory." Seeing the woman's cocked brow, he continued, "Maybe this group had something to do with attacking Brahmin, maybe not. Doesn't matter. We're getting paid to make them go away."

"What's your name?"

"Norton."

Jordan took a half-step forward and nodded, her expression hardened in deep thought. "Norton, I think you should leave."

"I've faced down a charging deathclaw and didn't blink. What makes you think I'd back down from you?" His lips drew into a hateful sneer.

"That's the thing about deathclaws, though. They're apex predators, ruled by instinct. Everything is straightforward for them, including their attempts to kill you. It's what makes them predictable. But I'm no deathclaw." Norton felt it then, the nudge against his prized jewels. He'd never even seen her arm move. Glancing down, the mercenary saw the glint of polished nickel and pearl grips. "I doubt you were expected to survive this trip. How about you leave with your life and call it a day?"

The color drained from the mercenary's face. There were not enough caps in the world to make him agree to having his junk shot off. "I've always known when to fight and when to back down, and it seems to me I ought to back down this time," he stammered. "My men and I are leaving. You won't see us around here again."

"Brilliant choice." Her face split with a beaming smile. "You have an excellent day, sir." Holstering her pistol, Jordan stayed put until the five men began to disappear down the hill.

Vulpes snickered beside her, amused with what he had seen. "You're wrong, you know. You are predictable."

Jordan smirked. "I wasn't going to give him the luxury of figuring that out."

As the pair walked back into Jacobstown to update Marcus, Cass and Veronica stood almost shoulder to shoulder at the railing of the lodge's balcony. They had come to the overlook in hopes of having a better view of the action, but it had been fruitless. Jordan and Fox had been too far away to see well without a scope.

Watching them come back within the town walls, Veronica sighed. "I think they need to hook up."

Cass's mouth dropped open. "You've seen them together for what – a day?"

"He was so sweet with her yesterday, though."

"Jordan doesn't need sweet or soft for that matter. She needs someone who can pull her hair and show her a good time. Get her to loosen up a little bit."

"Like Boone?"

The redhead shuffled her feet. "Yeah, like Boone. First Recon guys can be a lot of fun."

Veronica laughed, twisting to face the lodge doors while still leaning against the rails. "I think you just want them together because you feel bad for him. You've got a softer heart than you let on, Rose of Sharon Cassidy."

"I do not."

/

Late in the evening, Vulpes found himself on a stroll around the property. Despite the oppressive heat of the afternoon, it was enjoyable now with the moon hanging low and the stars winking in mischief. It was a quiet unwinding of the day, after having spent most of it with Jordan and her friends, learning what intelligence reports could not teach him.

Cass's tendency for heavy drinking was already known to him, but he suspected her guarded nature was due almost exclusively to his presence. There had been a retired sniper listed in the reports and Vulpes thought there might have been a connection. Perhaps she was wary of the men in Jordan's life or maybe she herself had indulged in an affair and was reeling from its demise, unappreciative of all men in its wake. Only time would reveal that answer to him.

Veronica, however, entertained him. Little was known about her outside of a tenuous connection to the Brotherhood of Steel. In his travels he had met and fought against a number of people belonging to the organization's ranks and all of them had been blessed with dour personalities that even Caesar had struggled with. Yet Veronica was full of spunk and wit, embracing laughter wholeheartedly. She also observed his interactions with Jordan carefully, picking up on the subtle chemistry between them and encouraging it. _If only she knew our history_ , he thought with amusement.

Entering a clearing behind the lodge, he found Jordan reclined in an ancient lounge chair, staring into the night sky above. Coming to sit against the boulder at her side, he said, "Still like stargazing?"

"Yep.".

The corner of his mouth twitched into a momentary smirk. "You impressed me today. I had forgotten how much we think alike."

"How so?" she asked, never sparing him a glance.

"You learned about your opponent before you mentally and physically terrified him into submission. It's a tactic I've used on many an occasion," he shrugged, lacing his fingers together across his lap.

"In your Legion work?"

"Yes."

She hummed in thought, considering the idea and how different it was from who she had once known. "Do you really believe in all of it? The deities, the laws, the propaganda?" she asked, head rolling to the side to finally observe him.

He thought for a long moment on how much honesty to impart in his answer. "Truthfully, not all of it. Caesar is a man with a vision, nothing more. I participate in the rituals because my safety and well-being demands it. As for the laws," he paused, scrutinizing his next words. "I have seen lives transformed by our customs. The NCR paints a worse picture than what is true."

"And slavery?"

"Is it slavery if you get what you want – a purpose in life?" he asked. It was an argument he had used many times before.

Jordan's lips curved into a half-smile. "I suppose if you are weak willed and not very intelligent, then it is a blessing to have someone else direct your every waking moment. But what if you are ambitious, headstrong, and intelligent? What if you have more to give the world than simple sewing and sword wielding?

"Then you are rewarded for that," Vulpes countered, fighting to keep the satisfaction from his voice. It wasn't often that he was given the opportunity to debate with someone other than Lucius. "Promotions, better weaponry, nicer quarters. The Legion honors those who excel in their duties."

"If you are male."

Vulpes shook his head. "Women can become priestesses in the temple. They can also be given as wives to high ranking officers if their services merit such."

The notion riled Jordan's temper, upending her attempt to remain calm. "Is that what you would want for me? To be the mindless wife who does nothing more than make babies and be quiet?"

Vulpes leaned forward, bringing his face close to hers. Eyes flicking to her lips before meeting her own, he asked, "What would you have me want?"

A feeling of molten lightning shot through her, every atom of her being suddenly vibrating. With the heat rising in her cheeks, she had never been as thankful for night skies as she was then. She turned away, at a loss for any retort that would land her anywhere other than his bed.

Vulpes leaned back, pride radiating off of him in waves. He was almost certain he could see her blush in the moonlight. Even if his eyes were playing tricks on him, her silence told him everything he needed to know. He had gotten under her skin and made her feel something she wasn't prepared to.

A moment of heavy silence stretched between them before Jordan posed a question, her voice back to its smooth and composed tone. "If I ask you something, will you give me an honest answer?"

"I see no reason not to."

"Your nightmare – was it about Utah?"

He jammed his hands into his pockets and crossed his feet, looking anywhere but at her. "Yes."

"Mine, too." His head snapped towards her, having forgotten that she had mentioned her own terrors the night before. "What was it like?"

When his voice finally surfaced, it was guarded and bordering on brittle. "Sometimes it's of your father's execution. Last night it was you, running for your life. And yours?"

Jordan searched the trees, the moon, and the stars for the words she needed before stealing a glimpse of the man beside her. "Hiding in the cellar, smoke filling my lungs while everyone was shot outside. Not being able to find you. I've been lucky to not have them around anyone."

"Why is that?"

"If they see it happen, they'll ask questions. I don't answer questions about my past."

Vulpes nodded. It wasn't uncommon for regular foot soldiers in the Legion to experience nightmares, but it was considered taboo to discuss it. The private quarters given to him as the head Frumentarius had been a blessing for that very reason. He was no longer subjected to the commiserative stares of his brothers-in-arms after an unfortunate night. "Do you think they will ever stop?"

"Maybe now," the corner of her mouth quirked up. Rising to her feet, she confirmed the lateness of the hour on her PipBoy. "I'm going to check on Rex. I'll see you in the morning."

Vulpes pushed away from the boulder abruptly, snatching her hand as she moved to leave and hauling her up against him. Even in the pale light of the moon, Jordan could see the electricity of his blue eyes dancing wildly, pinning her in place with his gaze alone. The longer he took to speak, the more confident she became that he could absolutely see her heart in her throat, bulging out through the muscles and veins in a frantic rhythm.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Her brows knitted in confusion. "For what?"

"For waking me last night. For not looking at me with pity today."

Jordan opened her mouth to reply, but his lips were on hers, soft and seeking. She found herself incapable of anything other than responding in kind, allowing herself to be pulled into the undercurrent. The touch of his fingers sliding into her hair drew a gasp from her.

Vulpes brought his forehead to rest against hers, his labored breathing drawing her scent into him, filling his lungs and infecting his bloodstream. It had been so long since he had kissed someone that he had forgotten how exquisitely suffocating it could be. He watched as Jordan's eyes slid open, their verdant shade shadowed in the darkness.

She considered staying there in his arms as she stared at his bowed lips. Rex could wait until morning, she was sure. But if she stayed, Jordan knew she might not be able to stop herself. He had been the standard by which she had judged all other men, but now he was on the opposite side of a war for a place she had grown to call home. She needed to think and to breathe. She was still coming to terms with the fact that he was very much alive, after all.

Placing a quick kiss on his lips, Jordan extricated herself from his hold. With an almost embarrassed smile, she all but fled the clearing, her feet taking her away as quickly as they dared. She hoped she would be asleep in the bungalow before he made it back.

Vulpes let her leave, hands rubbing his face in frustration. In what world was it a brilliant idea for him to kiss her? It was categorically wrong. Caesar had told him to seduce the Courier if he had to, but his orders were the last thing on his mind, his thoughts instead racing through the thousand other ways he wanted to make her gasp and tremble. Jordan quite clearly still had a hold on him after all those years, that much was becoming painfully obvious.

This might well prove to be the worst mission he had ever been given if he couldn't keep his shit straight.

* * *

 _A/N: A subtle nod of respect to Prince Vegeta for his help in writing that debate between Jordan and Vulpes. I had been wracking my brain for days, trying to figure out Vulpes's side of the argument, when I began watching the Buu Saga of Dragonball Z. When Vegeta delivered that famous line - "Tell me, is it slavery when you get what you want?" - my mind screamed HOLY SHIT THERE IT IS. Haha, I love that grump._

 _I absolutely adore hearing your thoughts on what's happening, so please don't hesitate to share them with me! See you next weekend XD_


	12. July 4, 2281

Almost 700 views! You guys rock!

* * *

Will time illuminate the stains  
And stop the pain  
The night you held me under a spell  
You know I cannot hide  
You're the very thing unwinding me  
\- Rie Sinclair, "No Way Out"

Veronica's feet swung from the examination table as she regarded the people around her. Dr. Henry was his usual cantankerous self, grumbling orders to Calamity and answering Jordan's questions about Rex. Cass, who had been stiff and almost cagey during their evenings in the cottage, stood across the room, picking her nails.

Jordan and Fox, however, made for an interesting spectacle. All morning they had stolen glances at each other, stood closer than necessary, and spaced out when they thought no one else would notice. The scribe smiled to herself. It wouldn't be long before something broke loose between them.

"He can leave tomorrow. He needs more recovery time and I need to run some tests before he goes," Dr. Henry fussed, shuffling through papers on his desk. "In the meantime, I could use your assistance."

Veronica shook her head in amusement. She might not have known much about her friend, but she knew Jordan was a sucker for someone in need. Even if they were a jerk.

"How so?"

"As you well know, the nightkin have varying degrees of mental instability due their addiction to Stealth Boy use. I've been trying to come up with a cure," he said, straightening his back with pride. "I'm currently investigating the local nightstalker population since they seem to have developed a natural stealth field."

"I hear a 'but' coming," Cass said.

The doctor shot her a withering glare. "I strongly suspect that the source of the mutation is artificial, but the Super Mutants found nothing. Your fresh eyes may do better."

"Okay, sure." Jordan pushed off the table Rex was sleeping on, eyeing her companions. "Anyone want to go with?"

"Got nothin' better to do," Cass said. Vulpes simply nodded.

"Veronica?"

The scribe shook her head. "You guys go on without me. I'll stay with Rex. Maybe poke around the tech here." The warning expressed on Dr. Henry's face had her throwing up her hands. "I'm joking. A little."

/

"This place gives me the creeps."

"You say that about every cave we go into, Cass."

The merchant adjusted the grip on her rifle, bringing it in tighter to her shoulder. "With good reason. We almost die half the time."

"We also get some pretty great loot," Jordan said. "And you usually get laid afterward. Where's your sense of adventure today?"

Ignoring her friend's grumbled reply, Jordan dropped to her knee and set to work on the locked door in front of her. The trio had been working their way through the cave for the last forty-five minutes, taking it slow in an effort to avoid startling the entire nightstalker population all at once. Thus far they had only encountered corpses of the animals scattered along their path, prompting Jordan to insist they check out what the tucked away steel door was hiding. Just in case.

When the lock gave way, the door slid open to reveal a musty one room bunker. Ushering her friends into the space, Jordan shut the door behind her and flicked on her PipBoy light.

"Oh shit. Look at this," she said, crossing the handful of feet to the other side of the room. Ammunition, magazines, and medical supplies lined a row of shelves, untouched and unused. As she passed the goods off to Cass, Vulpes plucked a holotape from amongst the clutter and handed it to her. Popping it into her PipBoy, a man's voice from centuries ago began to fill the air.

"So the Reds finally hit us, just like I always said they would. Vegas is still there as far as I know, but that probably won't last long. Didn't get accepted into one of the Vaults, so I did the next best thing and had this place built. Got massive debts but who cares now? Ha! It's every man for himself now. Had to take care of the Paulson boy since he knew about this place - these supplies are for me and nobody else. There's a woman and her daughter up in one of the rooms in the lodge, might go pay 'em a visit tomorrow. A man's got needs."

Jordan's lip curled in disgust as Cass shook her head and said, "Fucking douche. I hope they shanked him."

"C'mon. Let's finish this and get out of here," Jordan said, passing the last two bottles of Rad-X to Vulpes.

Exiting the bunker, the group shuffled in silence through the flooded lower chamber before climbing a western path. The tunnel gave way to another opening, littered with the bones of bighorners and the stench of rotting flesh. Inching their way through, Vulpes called them to a halt.

"I think we have found the culprit," he stated.

Behind a decaying carcass, the body of a nightkin lay clutching the broken shell of a stealth boy. A hefty super sledge rusted nearby.

Jordan crouched, turning on the light of her PipBoy once more, and examined the pre-war tech. Twisting it about in her hand, she noticed small indentations around a crack in the casing. "Looks like it's been chewed on," she said. "Radiation probably leaked out."

"Great. Can we go now?" Cass asked.

Jordan rolled her eyes. "As you wish." While Vulpes hoisted the super sledge onto his back, she scanned her map of the cave. "This way should take us back out."

Another tunnel on the northern end of the room sent them on a steep and winding ascent. As she was beginning to question her decision to not go back the way they had come, the path opened into an immense and sprawling chamber. They stood in guarded silence, taking in what little they could see, when Jordan felt something brush against her leg.

"What the hell was that?" Cass whispered as Vulpes moved his hand to rest on the handle of his Ripper.

Squinting, Jordan could detect the faint and warped outline of nightstalkers trotting among them, heading for the lower rooms. "That can't be good," she said. "They're running from something."

"Press on or fall back?" Vulpes asked.

Jordan considered their options. If they carried on, they would undoubtedly meet whatever had scared the canine mutants and she wasn't sure if that was something she wanted face time with. If they retreated, they would eventually find themselves in the company of nightstalkers. Despite the pack's current disregard of them, she knew it would not last and it was difficult to face more than a few at once. Deciding to go with the unknown rather than the certain, she led them forward, keeping to a low and sneaking walk in the shadows.

Nearing the midpoint of the cavern, a tremor in the floor brought them to a frightened stop. The unmistakable sound of air being pushed out through mammoth nostrils filled the space around them, sending Cass diving to the right for cover while Jordan shoved Vulpes left into a darkened alcove. Holding him in place, she saw the confusion rush through his chiseled face. With a careful raise of her toes that had her sliding along his body, she brought her lips to his ear.

"Behemoth," she explained in a voice so soft he almost missed it. Still he was lost, having never encountered whatever it was that had her and the other woman shaking in their boots.

Turning so that she could see Cass across the room, Jordan's eyes landed on the exit. They were so close to freedom, her friend even more so, having hidden along the same sidewall as the tunnel's opening. Vulpes observed as the two women began communicating, throwing hand signs back and forth in a heated, rapid succession. He concluded that Jordan had won when Cass threw up her middle finger and made for the passage out.

As she disappeared into the tunnel, the behemoth lurched forward, shaking the air around them and coming into view for the first time. Vulpes felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest at the sight. It had been years since he had felt genuine fear, and the twenty foot super mutant towering in front of him did the trick. They had only had light weapons and a scavenged super sledge. What the hell were they supposed to do if that thing saw them?

Sensing his unease, Jordan slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers and leaning in close. The alarm was evident in every line and pore of his face and when she breathed instructions into his ear, he could give no more than a slight nod in acceptance.

Waiting until the giant had lumbered by, Jordan leaned out of the alcove. When it had reached the far end of the room, she squeezed Vulpes's hand and surged forward. Caution thrown to the wind in favor of a hasty exit, their boots bounded along the cave floor and caught the behemoth's attention. It turned, giving chase and convincing Jordan that it was going to bring the cave down around them.

Entering the tunnel, she didn't allow them to slow until they had made it through the first turn, large fingers scraping the floor behind them as they went. The walls around them shook in protest and behind them they could hear chunks of rock break free and scatter along the path. Scrambling onward, Jordan found herself unwilling to let go of Vulpes's hand until they had caught up to Cass to at the mouth of the cave.

Outside, she hit her knees, lungs burning for fresh air.

"What the fuck was that?" Vulpes spat.

Cass was fuming, marching back and forth in the midday sun. " _That_ is why I'm never going into a fucking cave with you again."

/

"Are you okay, Rett?" Vulpes asked, squatting in front of her. "I've been trying to speak with you for the last five minutes."

Jordan had planted herself at the end of the bed, deep in thoughts and drawn brows. Marcus had promised at dinner to send some mutants to take care of the guest in the cave, but what did that mean? "Hmm?" she intoned as a warm hand came to rest on her knee. She stared at it, her expression rendered blank. "Sorry. I'm fine. Just…thinking."

The way in which her tongue brushed against her lip in thought made him ache and he tightened his grip on her knee without realizing it. "Anything you want to share?" he asked.

Vulpes had begun to worry that he had lost her to her thoughts again when she finally met his eyes. "I'm sorry – about today. I've never seen a behemoth this far east and I have no idea how it got in that cave. I should have turned us back as soon as we got the Stealth Boy. It was foolish and-"

"Stop," he cut her off. "There was no way for you to know what lay ahead."

"You must think I'm incredibly stupid," she sighed, eyes drifting to the worn hardwood of the floor. That anyone's opinion of her would weigh on her was a great frustration.

"Stupid? No," he said. A rough palm came to rest on Jordan's cheek, startling her out of her pity party. "Recklessly curious? Perhaps," he smirked.

Feeling his thumb ghost the edge of her lower lip, Jordan found herself unable to tear her eyes from him. She could feel a fount of emotion bubbling up inside of her, lust and a loneliness his absence had caused her at the forefront of it all. She knew she should shut it down – he was, after all, a spy. Though she didn't want to believe it, she knew it was possible his flirtations were nothing more than Caesar's orders and that his feelings for her were long since dead. Yet it was those cerulean orbs watching, focused so acutely on all of her subtleties, that broke her resolve.

Pushing his hand away, Jordan tugged him to her, crashing her lips against his. Surprised, but needing no time to recover, he rose with her and prowled over her, forcing her to shuffle back onto the bed. One arm flexed into a rigid beam, Vulpes held himself over her, caressing her face and kissing her fervently. She tasted of whiskey and something else uniquely her own. He couldn't get enough.

Jordan was convinced that she was both drowning and soaring all at once. Vulpes seemed to be all around her, filling every breath she took. As she began to explore the silky expanse of his tongue, she knotted her hand into the side of his black t-shirt, willing it to be her anchor to reality.

Every skim of Jordan's fingers felt as though it left a trail of electricity crackling in its wake. Despite ten years of Legion culture, Vulpes was making a desperate effort to be respectful of her and let her lead, but he was certain he was failing at it. He wanted to go adrift in her and never come back, to spend a lifetime showing her who he was now and what he could make her feel. When her hand trailed down his torso and dauntlessly cupped him through the fabric of his pants, he hissed in shock.

As he ripped her hand away and pressed it to the bed, Jordan was terrified that she had crossed an unspoken boundary. Yet when he laced his fingers with hers and lowered his weight onto her, pinning her to the mattress, her worry melted into the background. A hand in her hair and his erection grinding her against her, Jordan let herself go.

When his lips abandoned hers and left a blazing path down the column of her throat, she whispered, "Please."

A groan escaped Vulpes. So much for restraint. "Please what?"

"Take-"

The door to the bungalow ripped open, slamming into the wall behind it. "Hey! Keene is – holy shit!" Cass averted her eyes and made a clumsy attempt to draw the door back to her. "Uh, sorry."

Vulpes froze, keeping his face buried in the shadows of Jordan's body. He could all but feel the disappointment and frustration seeping into her. If he spared the other woman one look, he might not be able to restrain the murderous contempt that her sudden presence had ignited in him. He would find a way to repay Cass for the interruption.

"Keene is what?" Jordan's tone was curt, but she did not bother to squirm away from him.

"He's gone off the deep end. Wants our heads on pikes. Dr. Henry said for you to haul ass to the lodge."

"Motherfucker. Let me get my stuff."

Cass nodded and shut the door behind her, leaving the pair to untangle themselves.

"I am going to crucify that woman," Vulpes muttered.

"I'm sorry," Jordan giggled, giving him a soft kiss and biting his lip.

Again he groaned and pulled himself away from her. "Don't or I will let that godforsaken nightkin kill everyone in the lodge."

Another laugh and she shuffled off the bed. Grabbing her guns and checking her rounds, she waited for him by the door as he readjusted his pants. Swiping his Ripper from the nightstand, he followed her out into the cool evening air.

"Fill me in," Jordan said as Cass hurried beside her.

"Keene and one of the other nightkin came back from slaughtering some bighorners while Doc was finishing up testing the Mark II on Lily. Word got out that he had taken that route and now Keene is raising hell."

"Let me do the talking then," Jordan said, climbing the stairs to the front door. "Keep your weapons ready, but don't make it obvious."

Walking into the lobby of the lodge, Keene's raspy voice could be heard from the medical lab.

"I knew you were hiding something from me!" he bellowed. "My request is perfectly reasonable. Give us the Stealth Boy specs and there will be no need for us to splatter the room with your insides."

Drawing herself up to her most commanding posture, Jordan stopped in front of the mutant. "Keene-"

"Bother someone else. I don't want anything to do with you," he snapped.

She grit her teeth. Telling the Nightkin where to shove it would be so much more satisfying than the responsible approach she was trying to take. "That's no way to be, Keene," she said, her eyes glinting with defiance. "What do you plan on doing with those specs?"

"There are caches of Stealth Boys out there. With the Mark II in hand, it shouldn't be difficult to upgrade every one of them."

"Even though they are more dangerous to your health than regular Stealth Boys?"

"Our lives, our decision to make. We're tired of sitting around in Jacobstown waiting for a cure."

"What you do out there affects every mutant here. Every mistake will bring more mercenaries looking to cash in on the lives of your friends. But you didn't think about that, did you?"

Keene shifted his weight. "No, I didn't. Not until now, anyway," he said. "Very well, human. You've made your point, and I withdraw my…request."

He turned, not wishing to see her face any longer, and stormed out in defeat. Jordan exhaled through her nose, eyes fluttering shut, as the tension dissipated from the room. She had not expected the confrontation to go in her favor.

A pat on her back brought her back to reality. "Nice work. I've never seen anyone be able to talk the nightkin out of anything once they had their mind set to it," Dr. Henry said, offering a rare smile.

"Thanks," Jordan said. "I think I'm going to head back to the cottage. Long hike tomorrow."

/

Vulpes ambled into the humble bungalow, feeling weary and weighed down. Seizing the opportunity of a private conversation with Dr. Henry, he had spent the last half hour going over his "uncle's" symptoms – the increasing headaches, his tendency to drift off in his sentences, and the occasional memory loss. Though he had expected the diagnosis, it still took the wind out of his sails to hear it.

According to the former Enclave scientist, Caesar had a brain tumor. "Straight-forward case of intracranial blastoma fibrolosis, I wager," he had said. The only way to save the man was through an operation and Dr. Henry had insisted that neurosurgery on a regular human was currently out of his league. "Much more complex than nightstalkers and cyberdogs, I assure you. I'd be just as likely to kill your uncle as I would save him," he'd said.

He had given Vulpes the advice of either using a fully-functional Auto-Doc or finding someone else to perform the surgery. Where the hell he would find either of those things was beyond him. There was also another piece of the puzzle that complicated his feelings on the matter.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Vulpes dropped his head into his hands. The knowledge that Lanius would gain control of the Legion in the event of Caesar's death was suffocating at best. The Legate had made it clear on numerous occasions that he would disband the Frumentarii - dispersing the lower ranking spies and executing those at the top. He believed their tactics to be dishonorable and cowardly, and he would not tolerate such a stain on _his_ Legion.

Still, if Dr. Henry was right, Caesar had months to go. In that time Vulpes was confident he could persuade his commander to select someone else as his successor. The man had, after all, expressed doubts about Lanius's ability to lead the entirety of the society he had spent so many years building. It was clear to the Vulpes that the Legate was loyal only to Caesar, following along solely because he had been given free rein to kill who and when he wanted.

A delicate movement from across the room caught his attention and the Legion's problems were promptly forgotten. Jordan lay sleeping on her side by the fireplace, her hand resting in the curve of her waist. He did not know when he would be able to see her again after they left Jacobstown and the notion unsettled him.

Crossing the room, Vulpes lifted her slumbering figure into his arms and carried her to the bed. He returned with her pillow a second later before stripping down to his own sleeping attire and crawling in beside her. Without hesitation Jordan curled into his side, fingers clutching the t-shirt stretched across his chest, and his thoughts returned to their heated moment earlier in the evening. The girl he knew from before the Legion had been doe-eyed and demure in the bedroom, always allowing him to lead. She would never have fondled him through his clothes or been the one to escalate the moment at all. Who was this woman?

Brushing his lips against her hair, Vulpes realized he was already on his to way to being well and truly fucked.

* * *

 _A/N: Damn Cass and her timing! And damn Keene! Lol_

 _When I started to write this chapter, I wondered about what kind of tumor Caesar would actually have since "intracranial blastoma fibrolosis" didn't sound like an actual thing to me. Turns out, it isn't. From what I could find through research, he would most likely have astroblastoma - a rare type of tumor that includes symptoms such as intracranial pressure (headaches), enhanced drowsiness, seizures, and cognitive dysregulation (memory loss, aggression, inattentiveness, etc.), among others. But I'm no doctor. Just someone who is relentlessly curious and also probably wrong about that tumor XD  
_

 _Hope you have a great week!_


	13. July 8, 2281

Hope dangles on a string  
Like slow-spinning redemption  
Winding in and winding out  
The shine of it has caught my eye  
\- Dashboard Confessional, "Vindicated"

"Hello? Earth to Jordan!" Veronica snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face. She'd been more absentminded than usual since their return from Jacobstown and it was becoming a bit of a concern.

"Hmm? Sorry."

Despite her response, there was still a vacancy in her eyes as though she was on autopilot. Giving her friend a light shove, Veronica asked, "What's with you? You've barely been paying attention to anything lately."

Jordan looked around her, finally coming back to the present. She had been sitting in the floor of her bedroom dismantling her sniper rifle when she drifted off. The carbon fiber parts she had ordered from Gun Runners had arrived the day before and she wanted to install them before she headed to Red Rock Canyon. She had paused mid-breakdown of the bolt assembly, the cool metal still resting in her hands.

"Sorry," she apologized again. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Like how to get in Fox's pants?" Cass chimed in from the doorway, a goading smile gracing her lips.

Jordan said nothing, continuing to work on her rifle. Seeing the lack of response, Veronica nearly choked on her sarsaparilla. "Wait, what?"

"Yep," Cass said, popping the final letter as she sauntered into the room, coming to rest against the desk. "I caught them _en flagrante_ our last night in Jacobstown."

"Jordan! Is that true?" the scribe asked, brimming with excitement.

Still refusing to look at either of her friends, Jordan scrubbed at the carbon build-up on her rifle. "We were not _en flagrante_."

"The next best thing, then," Cass said with a snort of laughter.

Veronica gasped. "Wait, do you have history together?"

"Yes," Jordan said through clenched teeth.

"Sweaty history," Cass said.

Veronica set her sarsaparilla aside, drawing her knees under her to sit on the bed. "This is so exciting."

"When did you become such a girl about this?"

"Uh, hello? Brotherhood lesbian with a tragic love life. Remember? I live vicariously through you." Scooting forward, she continued, "So when did you meet?"

Jordan sighed. She would find a way to get back at Cass for this. "Fine. Short version: yes, we have history. Long version: no, you're not going to hear about it." Beginning the reassembly process, she added, "Can we drop this for now? I'm going to Red Rock Canyon once I finish this."

Cass shifted her weight and shared a look with Veronica. Nothing good happened in that corner of the desert. "Why?"

"I need to learn about the Khans so I know what to do with them."

"What do you mean?" the scribe asked, returning to her drink.

"They're tough - survivors. People like that could be helpful in the future of Vegas. Plus, if I can teach them to make stimpacks for everyone rather than chems for the Fiends that could change the landscape dramatically."

Veronica nodded, thinking over her friend's ideas. They were solid, but getting the Khans to come around would take some serious smooth talking on Jordan's part. If she failed, they would probably just kill her. "Who's going with you?"

Jordan smirked. "Whoever wants to go and won't get me shot."

"Hey!" Cass pushed off from the edge of the desk. "That was _one_ time!"

"I know. I've got the scar."

/

Boone stepped out of his old motel room in Novac. Despite feeling like he was in a Mojave-shaped frying pan, he felt almost at peace. Not even facing the room he had once shared with Carla had shaken him.

"So this is it, huh?" Manny asked as he stamped out the last of his cigarette in the dusty soil of the courtyard.

Boone shifted the weight of the pack on his shoulder and took a last look around. "Yeah, I think so."

"Do you think you'll come back?"

He hadn't given it much thought. He was single-minded in his mission these days. "I don't know."

Manny nodded. "Going after your girl?"

"Yeah. If she'll have me."

"She's something else," he smiled. "I hope you get her back."

"Right. I'll see you around then." Despite weeks of intensive therapy, Boone wasn't prepared to let his old partner in further than that. Some relationships just couldn't be repaired.

He was almost to the gate when Manny called out to him. Boone watched as he idly kicked the dirt in front him, trying to find the right words. Giving up, Manny settled for a weak "good luck," accompanied by a melancholy smile.

Boone gave a single wave of his hand in return and walked away from his former best friend for what he hoped would be the last time. Heading north out of town, he finally released the breath he had been holding. Some places had too many ghosts to ever be home again.

/

"When our children, our sick and old, fled through a nearby pass, the NCR gunned them down."

"That's terrible," Jordan whispered. She already knew the Republic's version of Bitter Springs, both officially and unofficially, but hearing it from the other side left a sour taste in her mouth.

"It's because of that we have sworn to take revenge on the NCR. With our new allies in Caesar's Legion, we will crush them!"

Jordan sat in silence. Papa Khan had spent the last hour giving her a lesson on the history of his people, and in spite of all the heartstrings their suffering pulled, she still wasn't entirely convinced that they were good people.

Papa rubbed his beard. "Does that answer all of your questions?"

"Yes, it does. Thank you."

"And just what does the famous Courier think about the Great Khans?" he asked and leaned back in his chair, appraising her carefully.

Jordan had to choose her words wisely. They might have been in Papa's private quarters, but there was no doubt in her mind that Caesar's emissary was next door, listening through the wall. "I think you're survivors and there is nobility in that. I am curious, though. What does the Legion promise you in return for your allegiance?"

Papa's eyes lit up with the imagining of a glorious future. "Caesar himself has promised us the land from here to the Colorado and the freedom to raid as we see fit."

Nodding, Jordan stood to leave. They would get all of that land, certainly, but only as Legionaries. Grasping the man's hand, she asked, "Do you mind if I visit your lab before I leave? I have some recipes I would like to share with them. Might open up some more trade for you all."

"Go right ahead."

She thanked him for his time and promised to return in the weeks ahead. "I want to see your people succeed," she told him before slipping out the back door. He didn't need to know just yet that she meant success without Caesar.

"Well, what do you think?" Veronica asked. She kicked a pebble and watched it bounce down the hill in front of her.

Jordan kept her voice low. They were leaving one part of camp for another, but that didn't mean people couldn't eavesdrop. "I want them, but there's a problem. An ambassador from the Legion is living with them and I'm not ready to piss off Caesar just yet."

/

"Vulpes!" Caesar boomed. "Tell me, how goes the mission?"

"Well, my Lord." _Lie_ , his mind screamed.

"Has she assassinated House yet?" he asked, receiving a glass of water from Felina.

Vulpes nodded, accepting his own drink, and said, "Yes. A copy of the obituary for your perusal."

Taking the worn sheet of paper, Caesar scoffed. "'Mandkind's only hope of long-term survival?' What a dick." Casting it into the fire pit beside his throne, he added, "I still want to hear it directly from her. She has yet to return to us."

"I am aware, my Lord."

"I trust you have something more to add to that, Vulpes?"

The Frumentarius scanned the tent. Too many ears were listening for what he needed to share. "I do, but I would speak to you of it in private."

"Fine," his commander grumbled. "Lucius, come with us."

The three men adjourned to Caesar's personal quarters, the praetorian drawing the tent flap closed behind them. Gathered around the conference table, Vulpes opened a medical text and slid it to the others. Faded images of brain structures and neurons filled the pages.

"I was invited by the Courier to visit Jacobstown-"

"The town full of mutants?" Caesar asked incredulously.

"Yes. A former Enclave scientist who specializes in cyber-genetics also resides there. I took the opportunity one evening to speak with him regarding my 'uncle's' condition. He believes you have intracranial blastoma fibrolosis – a tumor, in other words."

The color drained from his commander's face. Caesar had expected as much, but hearing the official diagnosis was worse than he anticipated.

Realizing the man was at a loss for words, Lucius leaned forward. "Is there anything that can be done?" he asked.

"Surgery. He suggested finding a neurosurgeon or repairing the Auto-Doc to full functionality."

"Could he not do it?"

"No," Vulpes shook his head. "He believed it to be outside his expertise."

Caesar finally spoke up, his voice hollow and weak. "How long do I have?"

"Less than a year."

Scratching his chin in thought, the older man began to formulate a plan. "Lucius, I want you spearheading the effort. Coordinate with the Frumentarii to track down what's needed. I want the utmost secrecy on this."

"Yes, my Lord."

Silence settled around the table. Caesar's mind was racing, trying to think of where a neurosurgeon might hide in the Mojave and where a salvageable Auto-Doc might be tucked away. Vulpes, his task done, wondered when the time would be right to suggest a rethinking of the succession.

"My Lord," Lucius said, "I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds, but now may be the opportune time to put your affairs in order."

 _Sweet Mars, now I don't have to do it,_ he thought.

Caesar glared at his guard. "They _are_ in order, you louse. And now is not the time to be making emotional decisions."

Vulpes withheld from the conversation. If Lucius's pitch went south, the man was going to have go down with that ship on his own. He would not be hopping on board.

"I do not see it as emotional, my Lord, but rather as pragmatic. And I believe that each of us here have the same reservations about to the current arrangement."

"What do you think, Vulpes?"

 _Damn it._ So much for staying out of it. "I believe that Lucius has given you wise and just counsel. You have expressed concerns in the past and in the event that we cannot procure the necessary tools, you should go to Mars knowing that your empire is in steady hands."

"Fine," Caesar sighed. "Now get out. I'm going to take a nap."

* * *

 _A/N: Writing scenes with multiple members of the same sex is apparently not my strong suite. My sincerest apologies._

 _This is a pretty short chapter, relatively speaking, but I think the next one will make up for it._


	14. July 15, 2281

A/N: For your consideration, I humbly present _**lemons**_.

* * *

So we'll piss of the neighbors  
In the place that feels the tears  
The place to lose your fears  
Yeah, reckless behavior  
\- Zayn, "Pillowtalk"

Vulpes hated Dead Sea. He was certain the feeling was mutual.

He was almost back to New Vegas and the only thing keeping his mind off Jordan was the run-in with that dipshit decanus he'd had the day before. It had been an impromptu decision to stop in Nelson on his way back from the Fort and he both regretted and felt relieved to have done so.

Dead Sea had captured the outpost as planned, but had killed or crucified all but one of the NCR troops stationed there. That one was mostly dead and would have been all dead if Vulpes had not stepped in on the interrogation. What they had gotten out of the trooper had been gold – Chief Hanlon was falsifying reports to undermine the NCR's mission because he had _lost hope_ – but had not come without the price of Dead Sea's ego. Somehow feeling undermined and embarrassed, he'd challenged the head Frumentarius the moment they had stepped out of the shack.

" _You come in here with your smooth talking and profligate clothes, acting so high and mighty. You think just because you got some information out of that NCR trash that you're Mars's gift to the world. I attacked the enemy," he barked. "I led the assault on Nelson with two contubernia against twice our number. I butchered this town. Those who weren't hacked limb from limb were forced to throw themselves from the cliffs. Three more, I crucified this evening. What have you done for the Legion?"_

 _Vulpes rounded on the man. "What have I done? I put you in charge of the attack. I planned every aspect of it and sent Frumentarii here before you ever set foot out of the Fort."_

 _He advanced on the decanus, forcing him to retreat and realize his mistake. "I made Searchlight and Nipton happen." Reaching out, he grabbed the Legionary by his armor as the younger man found himself at cliff's edge. "You would do well to watch your tongue when speaking to your betters or you will meet an end so heinous the Legate will weep."_

He had jerked Dead Sea back from the edge, but only enough to keep him alive. The man's attitude was a common problem in the rank and file of the Legion. Those who had been born into it and raised under the Bull felt themselves superior to those who had been assimilated. It did not excuse the idiot's behavior, however, and Vulpes was satisfied he had made his point clear.

He paused and glanced around before slipping under the manhole cover at his feet. After he had taken the helm of the Frumentarii, he had spent some time mapping the extensive sewers under New Vegas. A panel in a long forgotten corner led to access tunnels for the casinos, a crucial detail that had Vulpes sneaking past the Lucky 38's basement security in no time.

For the last week, every moment he hadn't been focused on Legion business, he had been thinking of Jordan. He'd gone over their talk in The Tops, their time in Jacobstown, and the morning that they had left. He had tried to kiss her goodbye before exiting the bungalow, but as it had in the days before, their chemistry ignited, leaving them both panting and struggling to restrain themselves.

He had also spent long hours considering their future. Would she side with the Legion? Perhaps head for the coast? He wasn't naïve. He knew Caesar had plans for her, though he did not yet know what they were. If she stayed, he would do everything in his power to keep her from a slave's fate in the Legion, even if it meant smuggling her into the NCR.

Stepping into the elevator, Vulpes made a promise to himself. If Jordan asked him to leave, if she decided that the trappings of his world were too much for her, he would honor that. He would walk away, let her love who she wanted, and would try to keep her safe from a place in the shadows.

The elevator pulled to a soft stop and the sound of the door sliding open was drowned out by the racing of his heart. Bracing his hands against the jamb, Vulpes leaned forward into the suite without exiting the car. If she spurned him, he would have a quick and incisive exit at his disposal.

/

Jordan scrubbed at the blood spattered on her cheek. Her dress was ruined, its status appraised with a passing shrug as she continued cleaning herself up. It was of her opinion that the White Glove Society had terrible taste in clothing anyway. She'd saved much more attractive dresses from the vaults - "wiggles" and "swings" as Raul had called them. Those ladies from before the Great War really knew how to dress up.

She sighed to herself, pulling her hair out of the bun she'd styled it into earlier in the day. Running her fingers through, it relaxed into tousled waves that skimmed the top of her back, just below her shoulders. There was probably blood in it, too. Maybe.

 _Beer first, then shower_ , she told herself.

Exiting the bathroom, she heard the faint whirring of the elevator climbing through the shaft. _Maybe Veronica decided to come back here for the night_ , she thought. The scribe had left with Arcade after lunch, ED-E and Rex trailing behind them as they headed for the Old Mormon Fort. Some of the equipment that the Followers used was in need of repairs and calibration and Veronica had jumped at the chance to tinker.

Cass, she knew, would not be back until the next day. She had watched her friend drunkenly waltz off towards Vault 21 with a patron from Gomorrah as she herself had headed home. Cass wasn't one for cuddling, but she tended to pass out afterwards. Jordan knew, because, much to her general annoyance, the woman's escapades were often shared in great detail the morning after.

When the doors of the elevator finally slid open, Jordan's breath crashed to a halt along with her feet. Attempting bravado, she asked, "What brings you into town?" She didn't want the man before her to know that she had put herself to sleep with thoughts of him more than once in the last week.

Vulpes gave a small smile. "Business." Allowing his eyes to follow the curves of her dress, he added, "Seems you've been busy."

She didn't need to look to know he was referencing the fresh blood stains splattered on her skirt. "The White Glove Society had a cannibalism problem. I took care of it."

Silence passed between them as they stared, daring each other to make the next move. Jordan's heart was pounding and she knew that he had seen the subtle twitch of her fingers a second before she clenched and unclenched her fist. It was everything she had not to reach out and touch him, but she wanted, needed some sign to confirm her hopes for why he was there. "So," she cleared her throat, "where is a man like yourself staying?"

"I don't know," Vulpes said. There was a standing arrangement with the Ultra Luxe, but he didn't always stay there. He had known about their meal preferences and found their masks to be unsettling, two things that occasionally had him bunking down elsewhere. "Nothing is set at the moment."

He watched the lines of Jordan's throat as she swallowed. She floated closer to him and Vulpes wondered if she was even aware of her own movement. Again he noticed the contracting of her hands before she tangled them together at her front, shoving her breasts together without thought. He made an attempt not to stare, but was confident that he failed.

"I suppose it wouldn't be very courteous of me to turn away a weary visitor," she said in warm and breathy tones.

"Your kindness is unmatched in these wastes."

"And just what is your name this evening, traveler?"

If that voice had hands, it would have been tugging at his zipper. The closer Jordan moved to him, the more every fiber of his being came alive. Even his gums were pulsating in anticipation as his mouth watered and Vulpes couldn't remember the last time he had been so hard. His eyes dropped to her lips as they parted, her breathing coming in fast and shallow.

"You can call me Shelby."

Vulpes had scarcely gotten the words out of his mouth when her hand shot out and grabbed his tie, yanking him forward. Her lips were hot and damp, colliding against his own with a fervor that took his breath away. Though she tugged him along, he still managed to slam her slender body into what he hoped was her bedroom door.

An appreciative moan escaped Jordan when her tongue brushed against the soft warmth of his own, grappling for the upper hand. She felt the callouses of his hands sliding up her thighs and lifting her to his waist, her own hands clasping at the back of his neck. Wrapping her legs around him, she found herself thanking whatever deity might listen that she'd had the skirt shortened to knee-length. It had been a tactical decision at the time, but now she was considering trimming every skirt and dress she owned.

Vulpes growled at the feel of her writhing against him in an attempt to bunch her skirt further out of the way. He nipped at her lower lip and chuckled at her gasp. Unaware that she had been fumbling for the door's handle, he stumbled slightly once the door gave way. Jordan set to work on undoing his tie, allowing him a moment to survey the room. The bed was on the far side, but there was a two-tiered coffee table in the corner by the door. The knotted fabric discarded and forgotten, Vulpes moved to sit on the table, keeping her snug in his lap as he did.

Jordan had removed his suit jacket and was still blazing a trail of soft kisses along his jaw, her fingers working through the buttons of his shirt with a clumsy haste, when she felt his hand drift up her inner thigh. Vulpes massaged her through the thin cloth covering her core, the gentle but steady rhythm sending a jolt up her spine. When his fingers skimmed their way further north and hooked into the waistband, she bit her lip at the prospect of his next move. The cloth tore, falling loose around her hips, and a whimper of pleasure ripped through her as his fingers dipped into her already slick heat.

"Why is this still on?" she mumbled, knocking his fedora to the floor behind them.

A wolfish grin bloomed across his features as he enjoyed the way Jordan struggled to stay coherent, before her lips descended on his again. She swore against him when Vulpes found the textured flesh within her walls and began to manipulate it, every stroke and press eliciting a more vibrant reaction. His trousers grew more strained with every pant that escaped her.

Vulpes bit his lip before tracing the column of her throat with his tongue, her head tilting back at the welcome sensation. Feeling Jordan's muscles shudder and tense, he kissed his way along her jaw before swallowing the cries of her ecstasy. Her lungs reeling in satisfaction, she slumped forward, her forehead resting against his as she came down from her climax. Vulpes was smiling at her again, quite clearly pleased with himself. Removing his hand from under her skirt, he grasped her copper locks and moved to unzip her dress. Delight shivered through him when he found that her now defunct underwear was the only thing she'd had on beneath it.

Extricating herself from his lap, Jordan pulled him up with her as she went and allowed the dress to pool at her feet. Vulpes clenched his jaw, his eyes growing dark. Removing the garment had allowed the perfume of her bliss to flood his senses, further fueling his hunger for her. Coupled with finally seeing Jordan in all of her naked glory, Vulpes was on her again, roughly kissing and guiding her back to the bed. When they were close enough, he gave her a light shove, sending her bouncing back onto the mattress.

Jordan couldn't help the giggle that escaped her, but it died as Vulpes set about removing the rest of his clothing. His eyes never left hers as shoes were kicked off and pants were dropped and she could feel the blush blazing across her cheeks. No one had ever looked at her like he was then, as though she was prey and he intended to pick her bones clean.

 _Holy shit_ , she thought. Jordan's eyes roamed over the planes of his body as he prowled towards her. Ten years in the Legion had a way of carving a man into a god. The soft lines of his teenage years had been chiseled away, leaving hard edges of scarred and sinewed granite in their wake. _I might actually have to thank Caesar for that._

Vulpes had her body pinned to the sheets with his own, one hand sinking in her hair when he paused. "If you don't want this, tell me. I'll stop, I'll leave, I'll do whatever you desire. But you have to tell me."

His breath was hot on her skin and Jordan swore she could feel his heart thundering in his chest. Terror and lust rampaged through his eyes in equal measure, a whirlwind she herself felt. Jordan glanced at his lips before meeting his eyes in fearless hunger. "Shut up and fuck me," she whispered.

A sharp gasp tore from her when Vulpes slid into her, hissing his own string of expletives, and she felt as though she was ascending into consciousness for the first time in years. His strokes were long and slow, allowing his flesh to savor hers in agonizing detail. Burying his face into her shoulder, Vulpes groaned when Jordan's hips began to rock, meeting him thrust for thrust and pulling him in deeper. Her nails threatened to add more scars to his back as he picked up the pace.

Jordan's moans grew louder and her swearing more frequent. Each plunge of his hips slammed into her sensitive nub and the reverberations only served to increase the growing pressure she felt in her center. She watched in appreciation when Vulpes pulled away from her, her gaze glowing with excitement as he changed positions. Settling onto his knees, he pulled her legs flush against the sweat-glazed lines of his torso and settled her ankles along the cords of his neck. Jordan felt her breath hitch as he kissed the inside of her calf and stopped to study her for a moment. She was going to be a puddle of limbs by the time he was done with her and she knew it.

Digging his fingers into the crests of her hips, Vulpes set a furious pace. Crying out and chanting his birth name, Jordan begged him not to stop as her hands clasped tight around the headboard. Watching the muscles of his body flex with the movement drove her higher, past anything she had ever known. When the building pressure finally broke free, Jordan screamed. Heaven erupted in her veins in a relentless, undulating wave, threatening to obliterate everything in its path. She had never felt anything like it.

As her vision began to turn black around the edges, Vulpes came undone. Spilling himself inside of her was all-consuming, every nerve of his body resonating so violently he thought he would shatter until his racing heart demanded he stop. With a slow, final thrust, he removed himself, planting a sweaty kiss on her lips before collapsing onto the bed.

Jordan's hair was damp with perspiration. When was the last time she had been touched like that? Never. The answer was never. While her breathing evened out, she found herself tracing the scars on his back with lazy fingers. "What are these from?"

Vulpes turned his head towards her, wanting to gauge her reaction. Most women reacted like the blonde he'd been with during his last stay at the Ultra Luxe, in poor form and with little consideration for his pride. "I was scourged for disobeying an order," he explained. Her eyes softened, but her feathery touch never stopped. "Do they bother you?"

"No," she said. "I think they're beautiful. They tell a story of survival."

He gave her a small smile, shifting onto his side so he could touch her better. No one but himself had been so accepting of them. He was proud of them, in fact, because they did tell a story and they were a testament to the strength of his will. On occasion, with troublesome recruits, he would shed his armor and bare his scars, an alarming reminder to them of precisely who they were dealing with. "What about these?" he asked, referencing the three long, parallel scars on her side.

"Deathclaw." His brow shot up. "It's not as impressive as it sounds. I had already killed it and it fell on me." She smiled at his chuckle. It had been too long since she'd heard it. "This one?" she pointed to one on his shoulder.

"Training."

"And this?" Another on his ribs.

"Fiends outside of Dog City. What about this one?" A thin line on her bicep.

"Bar fight in New Reno."

He pulled her flush against him, savoring the feel of her. "Where did you learn?"

"What?"

"To fight. I saw you at The Thorn," he admitted. "I did not expect you to win after he pinned you."

Again her face flushed. "Oh. _That_. Not my brightest moment." She paused, remembering the frustration and self-loathing she had felt over getting Rex's new brain. That slurry of emotion had been the driving force behind her decision to go toe-to-toe with a Fiend in an underground fight club. "I was a courier off and on for ten years. Any time I came across someone who knew something I didn't, I made sure they taught me."

"Something that has no doubt saved your life on numerous occasions."

"More than that," she said, splaying her fingers across his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart felt calming to her. "I'm a woman in the Wasteland. I have to be able to fight, at all costs."

Even though he already knew the answer, Vulpes asked anyway. He found he enjoyed listening to her thoughts and learning the way she saw things now. "How so?"

"If a man gets caught, what happens? He's killed, let go, or forced to join his captors. But if a woman gets caught in the wastes? Death would be a kindness."

He hummed in thought, a half-smile forming on his lips. "I've got la petite mort for you."

Jordan's face lit up as she giggled. "Where did you learn that?"

"It's the only thing I ever remembered from all of your French."

* * *

 _A/N:_ La petite mort _is a French expression that can be used in reference to orgasms (as well as other, non-sexual things). It translates literally as "little death" (hence Vulpes's joke). If you hear an American saying it, it'll almost always be in reference to sex._

 _A small tip of the hat to both_ The Princess Bride _and_ The Originals _in this chapter. Inconsequential bonus points if you get them. Lol_


	15. July 16, 2281

I'm always standing in the shadows, baby  
I watched you give yourself away  
You take them home into your bedroom  
You had another busy day  
\- Alice Cooper, "Love's a Loaded Gun"

Vulpes made an unhurried climb into awareness, welcomed by the scent of something buttery and familiar hanging in the air. Light drifted in from the foyer as he felt around the velvety blanket and soft sheets he was wrapped in and stretched out his muscles. Rather than hustling out of bed as he so often did, he relished the moment, thinking over the night before. Hearing his name on her lips again – his true name – was like finding religion. It had been so long since he had heard it and the honeyed, pleading way in which she spoke it drove him wild.

A grin cracked across his face. Sex with Jordan was every bit of what he had longed for. The fling with Caesar's concubine aside, Vulpes had never slept with the slaves and why would he want to? He found no thrill in a crying woman begging him to stop, or possibly worse, a woman who would shut down and stare into space. The free women in Flagstaff were too afraid to be vocal or do anything other than exactly what the Legionary wanted. Those on the Strip were too self-absorbed and liquored-up to be anything more than a half-decent lay.

Jordan, on the other day, was unafraid to go for what she wanted, giving as good as she got. She was battle hardened and didn't break when he took her as passionately as his body begged him to. They'd even slept together a second time at some late hour. She had climbed atop him and by the end it had been _him_ begging _her_ not to stop. In the midst of her rolling hips and sharp nails, he had briefly thought to himself that he would do just about anything to be fucked like that for the rest of his life. That it was all with a woman he'd been in love with since he could understand the concept, and who he had thought was lost forever, made it all the more mind-blowing. Just thinking about it all made him want to drag her back to bed and have her again.

Vulpes relented, though. He had a meeting with the Omertas that afternoon and knew that if he crawled back between Jordan's legs he'd be there all day. Gathering himself, he made a relaxed trek to the bathroom. There was no way he'd sit in a room with Big Sal and Nero while reeking of sex.

/

The smell was the first thing Veronica noticed when she stepped off the elevator. It was there, under the scent of pancakes and coffee. Strong, but not overpowering. Someone had been having a lot of sex. Or some really great sex. Or both.

The second thing she noticed was Fox's tall and muscular body strolling out of the bathroom in nothing but a low-slung towel. He smirked at her as he disappeared into Jordan's bedroom, the door shutting behind him. When she peeked around the corner into the kitchen, she found Jordan cooking in her underwear and tank top, humming along to the radio. _It was you having all that sex,_ she thought and stifled a giggle. _Get it, girl!_

Not wanting to intrude on her friend's excellent morning, the scribe turned on her heels and headed back to the community bedroom. She could wait until Fox left.

After finishing an old holotape movie about alien invaders, Veronica found her friend in the game room, feet propped up on the poker table and nursing a sarsaparilla. Her new boy toy appeared to be long gone.

"Jordan and Fox sitting in a tree," the brunette sang.

Jordan jumped and choked on her drink. She'd had no idea she wasn't alone. "Have you been here the whole time?" she wheezed.

"Since Sex on Legs got out of the shower."

She stared at her friend for a moment, a mild confusion marring her features.

"What? Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I can't appreciate a man's beauty."

Jordan took another sip of her drink. "Fair enough."

"So," Veronica prompted, her smile beaming.

"No. Uh uh. I am not regaling you with details like Cass does."

The scribe pouted, crossing her arms as she flung herself back into her chair. "You're no fun!" she said. "Will you at least tell me if he is as good as he looks like he'd be?"

Jordan barked out a laugh. "Fine. He's earth-shattering."

"You go, girl!" Veronica said, offering a high-five to her friend. She loved to see her friends happy.

"Thanks, I guess."

"So I saw your stuff laid out on your bed. Going somewhere?" she asked, watching as Jordan polished off her drink and tossed the bottle into a nearby trashcan.

"The Fort."

"Why?"

Jordan's smile reminded her of a chef's knife, bright and sharp, causing a shiver to run down Veronica's spine. "To tell the great Caesar that I killed House. I'm sure he already knows, but I think that it will be useful to let him believe I'm on his side for a little while longer. Might be able to learn a few things."

Hope bloomed in the brunette's features. "Want some company?"

/

Vulpes settled into the couch in Nero's office. The Omertas were establishing a pattern of going out of their way to make him feel comfortable and appreciated, sharing their best whiskey, showcasing their most skilled women, and offering their most potent chems. He only partook of the liquor, never forgetting why he was there or who he was dealing with. He could see the undercurrent of devilry in their hospitality. It reminded him a yao guai cub he had once watched kill a young slave, showing kindness before it sank its teeth into the child's throat.

He felt no tension dealing with the Family, however. Their pantheon of sin and cutthroat practices might have distracted and unnerved lesser men, but Vulpes was a threat in his own right – something their arrogance prevented them from seeing. It always gave him a certain thrill, though, to be a deathclaw hidden in a molerat's cloak, his victims none the wiser.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Mr. Fox," Big Sal stated. "Our associate is on his way."

"While we wait, is there any other business you would like to discuss?" Nero asked.

"I have someone at McCarran who can help with your shipping problem. Have your colleague reach out to a Captain Ronald Curtis," Vulpes said as he passed a set of instructions to the man beside him. "He oversees logistics for the troops garrisoned there and will be expecting to hear from someone."

"Outstanding," Nero said. "Get Troike on that, would ya, Sal?"

The mobster stood and smoothed his suit before exiting the room, passing a man with shaggy hair and a sweater vest on his way out.

"Clanden!" Nero barked. "Meet Mr. Fox. I think you'll find him very adept at acquiring what you need."

Vulpes rose to shake his hand before returning to his seat. Something in the way the man's wardrobe contrasted with his frigid grip left the Legionary feeling tense. Clanden was a man with secrets and he had the distinct impression he would not want to know what they were.

"What do you require?" he asked.

Clanden remained on his feet, his pressed slacks screaming to be wrinkled. "I could sure use some help," he said. "You see, I do explosives, and the Family has a special need for some big explosions. Problem is, there's no way I can get enough stuff to do the type of damage they're looking to do, much less get it all deployed. Since I can't hope to get all the killing done that they need to get done with bombs, I've been thinking about some alternatives."

"I'm listening," Vulpes said behind steepled fingers.

"I figure chlorine gas is the way to go. It's toxic, and I can rig it up to do a whole lot of killing in a fairly short timeframe. I just don't know where to find any."

"I know of a few places. How much will you need?"

Clanden's eyes brightened. "As much as you can get me."

Vulpes nodded, readying himself to leave. If he departed now, he would only be a few hours behind Jordan in getting to the Fort. "Continue with your work. I should have something for you at our next meeting."

Clanden rubbed his hands together in anticipation as Nero asked, "Not staying, Mr. Fox?"

"I'm afraid I am needed elsewhere, but I am grateful for your hospitality, Nero." Heading for the door, he added, "Until we meet again."

/

The thing about being Caesar's concubine that no one seemed to consider was that one witnessed far more than they were supposed to. Despite her status, Felina was still nothing more than a slave and slaves were often compelled to behave like wallpaper – seen, but never heard, and never expected to repeat anything.

She had witnessed important Legionaries meeting their end in Caesar's tent, walked in on illicit affairs, and overheard state secrets that she doubted even her Lord knew about. She also knew the imperator's thoughts on the Courier and the plans he was devising for her after Hoover Dam. As it stood, if Felina had not borne him a son by then he would take the other woman for himself. Otherwise, she would be passed to Legate Lanius who would likely rape and murder the woman for sport.

So when the Courier arrived at the Fort for a second time, Felina made sure she listened more closely than usual.

"If you find they aren't amenable to this offer, destroy them," Caesar explained with nonchalance. When the woman nodded in acceptance, he continued. "Good. Your first challenge will be to reach their settlement without getting blown up. After that, should be easy. Anything else?"

"I traveled all day to return to you. Is there somewhere in camp I might rest before leaving?"

Felina noticed that the Courier sounded like Caesar when she spoke to him. What an odd profligate.

"Did you come alone this time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Vulpes Inculta is currently serving the Legion away from the Fort. His tent is directly behind this one. You can stay there, but keep your attention to yourself."

"As you wish," the Courier replied with a smile. "Out of curiosity, what can you tell me about Vulpes Inculta?"

Caesar eyed her for a moment. "You have spent time with him, have you not?"

"I have, but I am interested in your perspective."

The aging leader smiled, his ego bolstered by the Courier's comment. "Vulpes is the best of my Frumentarii. A remarkable individual from an unremarkable tribe in the south of the Utah. He was brought into the Legion later than I would have liked, but he survived training and fought well enough as Legionary to be promoted to the rank of decanus. Then, in battle against an unimportant tribe, he broke ranks and led his contubernium through a hole in their defenses to capture the chieftain." With a laugh, Caesar continued, "Well, his Centurion wanted him crucified for disobedience. So I had him scourged and made a Frumentarius."

"What is the exact role of Frumentarii in your Legion?" the woman asked.

"Whatever I require," he replied matter-of-factly, his hand turning about to emphasize his point. "Infiltration, assassination, dramatic atrocities to break the spirit of the enemy, et cetera. They're mentally flexible. They operate behind enemy lines for extended periods, imitating the enemy's customs without becoming _sullied_. In all these things, Vulpes is a master."

Felina smirked to herself. Of course her Legionary was an expert in his craft. There was no doubt in her mind that he could make the Courier trust him and then break her open like the degenerate she was. The thought made her glow with pride.

Hours after dinner, the slave found herself restless. Caesar had already gone to sleep, but the Fort was still bustling with activity. It seemed some nights as though the little camp on the hill never slept, always watching the other giants nearby. Always waiting.

It was while she was lying next to Caesar that she heard Inculta's voice on the other side of the tent wall. He was supposed to be away, not returning until morning at the earliest. She wondered what he would make of the profligate in his quarters. A smile tugged at her lips. _I bet he'll make her sleep in the dirt,_ she thought.

She waited until she could no longer hear his voice before she crawled out of bed. Explaining to the praetorians on duty that she needed to visit the foricae, Felina slipped outside and made her way to the rear of the compound. Taking care not to be seen, she approached Inculta's tent and drew near to a sliver of an opening in one of the side walls.

She was stunned by not only what she saw, but what she heard. The Courier lay writhing beneath the head Frumentarius, softly moaning as he took her with a passion Felina had not been privileged to. Their limbs were entangled and his lips never seemed to leave some part of her body while she dug her nails into his back.

Felina felt a vivid jealousy taking root for the first time in her life. She had been raised by the priestesses and groomed for the most prominent commanders of the Legion. She had _always_ been the chosen one and becoming Caesar's concubine had been further proof of that. Of course she had twice been commanded to sleep with Vulpes, but the majority of their affair had been at the Frumentarius's own solicitation. Not once had he been harsh with her, but he had never treated her like a lover, or an equal, as he currently was the Courier.

The slave stood in quiet rage, wringing her tattered dress in her hands, as she watched the pair reach their climaxes. Adding insult to injury, she realized that Inculta had met his euphoria inside the woman. She, a filthy profligate, was more worthy than Felina to carry his children? He continued to lay atop her, laughing and smiling with her as she ran her fingers through the long hair at the top of his head. Felina had always been shoved away and discarded like a ripped up tunica.

She stormed away, tears gathering in her eyes. What was so special about the Courier that had everyone fawning over her? She wasn't even that pretty with her ugly red hair and high cheekbones. And she could see some of the woman's scars from where she'd been standing. Felina didn't have a single one.

The longer she thought on it, the more certain she became that she positively hated the Courier.

* * *

 _A/N: Oh shit O.O_

 _Let me know what you think - about any of it!_


	16. August 19, 2281

_A/N: We're over 1,000 views! How freaking exciting is that?! Thank you all so much!_

* * *

Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)  
God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way)  
Chance is the only game I play with, baby  
We let our battles choose us  
\- Lorde, "Glory and Gore"

"Courier?"

Jordan paused as she neared the bottom of the 38's steps, Rex nudging her leg to keep going. A sober NCR trooper had called out to her, waiting with practised patience for her attention.

"Ambassador Crocker would like to see you."

"All right," she replied, tugging at the rifle on her back. "He say why?"

"No, ma'am. He just wants to see you as soon as possible."

"Lead the way, then." As it was, Jordan had not been headed anywhere in particular. She had spent the last few days hanging around the 38 with nothing to do except take shit from Cass about her now-raging sex life. A walk around the Strip with her cyberdog and maybe a jaunt over to the Old Mormon Fort had been decided on as a means of escape.

Walking into the ambassador's office, she did not fail to notice the sudden tension that was radiating off of Rex. Mr. Crocker, it appeared, was not his idea of "good people." She would need to be more mindful going forward.

"Ah, Courier, so glad you could make it," the diplomat glowed. "I have something I wanted to discuss with you."

Jordan plopped into the chair across from his desk. It wasn't her first time meeting with him. She'd been summoned not long after arriving on the Strip following the incident in Goodsprings, and though he had treated her with fairness, the man oozed politics from his pores. She hadn't been back since. Now that she had been beckoned a second time, it reconfirmed something about the NCR that she had known for many years – they only wanted to talk when they were in need of something.

"What do you need, Mr. Crocker?" she asked.

His face fell. The woman already had a wall up. Perhaps the rumors were true. "We've been hearing disturbing reports that you have been visiting Fortification Hill. Care to shed any light on that?"

"I have. Caesar invited me."

"That does not look well for you," he said, leaning onto his desk.

"A foreign government official requested my presence," Jordan replied in a sharp voice. "I believe that is something you, yourself, did several months ago."

She had a point. In spite of the fact that the Legion was his country's natural enemy, she was a citizen of neither. He could cajole her all day long, but her allegiance did not belong to either of them by default. As it was, visiting with dignitaries when invited was simply the polite thing to do.

Adjusting his tie so that it lay flat against him, he tried again. "I understand your point. Just know that if you continue your dealings with the Legion, you will be considered an enemy of the New California Republic."

"Noted."

The antipathy simmering below the Courier's surface left Crocker on uncertain footing. There was something he desperately needed taken care of. If she refused, he didn't know what he was going to do. "There is one more thing I would like to speak with you about – something that would assure my beloved country of your good will."

 _Here we go. The real reason I'm here,_ she mused behind a cocked brow as she waited for him to continue. If there was one thing the Legion had done better with, in Jordan's eyes, it was how they did business with her. Caesar didn't beat around the bush with threats of blacklisting her. He'd told her from the start what he thought and why he had wanted to meet her. That, of course, did not mean she overlooked his sexist fascism, though.

"It's something I believe will benefit everyone in the Mojave. As I'm sure you know, the correctional facility to the south of New Vegas suffered from a revolt several months ago. Its prisoners have since formed a gang and have been terrorizing the fine people of the region– citizens, vacationers, and merchants alike."

"And you would like for me to rein them in."

"Indeed, I would. It would be a great service to the people – one I'm sure you can get behind no matter who you support."

Jordan's eyes were hard and her mouth set into a firm line. She understood why Caesar would want her running errands for him, but this was ridiculous. If the NCR would stop overstretching themselves and better manage their supplies, they could easily handle the Powder Gangers.

 _Idiots. The lot of them._

/

"How many do you see?" Veronica whispered.

Her voice strained, Jordan said, "One in each of the front towers, so probably six total there." She shifted the rifle around to get a better count. "Three at the front gate and at least four or five in the courtyard. Hard to tell."

"So 14 against four. Sounds like a good time," Cass said.

"And that's not including what's in the buildings. Who knows how many have stayed?"

Vulpes looked at the women around him. He had run into Jordan on the Strip that morning. "I'm going on a murder spree," she had said. "Want to come?" He had agreed, hoping for the chance to see her in action, but now he was wondering if she had suffered a blow to the head while she'd sat in Crocker's office. "Remind me what the purpose of this is," he said.

"Because the ambassador pissed me off and then handed me a kill sheet," Jordan said. "These guys need to die, anyway."

"People always die when you get angry," Cass said.

"Is that a complaint?"

"Nope. It's why we're friends."

Vulpes was surprised to find himself doubting the operation. He had often taken the field against enemies with superior numbers, but always with an army of well-trained recruits. It had never been lopsided to this degree nor with allies whose skills were still largely unknown to him. "Do you think you're being a bit cavalier about the number of people we have to take out?"

Jordan's eyes went wide under a drawn brow. _Says the guy who orchestrated a lottery to kill off an entire town_ , they screamed.

 _Point taken_.

"Don't worry, Fox. You can put her to sleep tonight if her conscience gives her any grief," Cass teased with a wink, misunderstanding his concerns.

To the untrained eye, Jordan's face was reddened by the scorching hours they had spent trekking out to the prison. Vulpes knew better, though. She had a fierce blush and was refusing to acknowledge it. "Ready?" she asked.

Lining up her shot, Jordan fired her sniper rifle once, twice, three times, the suppressor hiding her deeds until one of the guards fell over the railing of his tower. As he struck the ground with a hard thud, the other Powder Gangers stopped in their tracks to stare. Before Jordan could squeeze off another round, however, a convict at the gate called attention to their position.

"Fuck," she hissed. "Spotted."

Veronica scrambled to her feet with Cass following suit. "Come on!" she called out as she took off in a run down the ridge.

Jordan brought her eye back to the scope, swearing when she saw that the resulting chaos had rendered her rifle useless. She wouldn't be able to hit anything with people scrambling around behind broken steel and concrete. Vulpes, though, had beat her to the realization and was already halfway down the hill by the time she tore after him.

Below her Jordan could see Powder Gangers spilling out of the Visitor's Center and through the main gate. Cass and Veronica were attempting to create a bottleneck, shooting and slugging who they could as the men rushed forward. Vulpes had made it to the bottom of the ridge before he was met by a small group that had scraped by the other women, though they gave him little trouble. The manner in which he used his Ripper appeared almost choreographed to perfection, Jordan mused. There was, however, a lone convict sneaking along a rocky ledge in an effort to surprise the Frumentarius.

In an instant, Jordan assessed her options. If she fired from her current position, she ran the risk of missing and hitting Vulpes or distracting him. If she hauled ass, though, she might be able to get the drop on the man. Breaking into the fastest run she could manage on a downhill slope, she still lost her balance and went down on a knee, accelerating across the gravel that littered the lower portion of the ridge. As she neared the jutting rock face, she used her momentum to propel herself forward, springing back to her feet and bolting towards the man.

Too focused on his intended victim, the Power Ganger screamed when a slender body slammed into him and took him over the ledge. Plummeting towards the ground below, his vocalized terror came a halt when he and his attacker began to tumble along the dirt. It wasn't but a few feet to where the ridge stopped and level ground began, but the tackle and subsequent stones ramming into the man's sides took his breath away. When they came to a stop, he was surprised to see a woman straddling him. The flirtations he wanted to extend to her never sputtered from his lips, as a combat knife sheathed itself in his eye socket before he could form the words.

Having seen Jordan plunge off the side of the ledge with an extra body, Vulpes tore through the innards of his last convict and ran towards where she would have landed. Rounding the corner, he found her tugging her knife free and returning it to its place on her thigh. A smile tugged at her lips as she threw him a wink and headed into the fray. Vulpes shook his head, a soft chuckle filling the space around him.

/

"Maybe they ran into some trouble," Veronica offered.

"I guess. Let's go check it out."

As Cass opened the door to Cell Block B, the scribe heard the faint sounds of two people who were most certainly _not_ having problems. Pulling her friend away, she quietly shut the door and smiled.

Confusion laced the redhead's voice. "What was that for?"

"They're fine. They are definitely fine."

"Wha- are you fucking kidding me?"

"Kidding? No, but they are probably fucking," Veronica beamed, proud of her joke.

Cass rolled her eyes and headed for a nearby picnic table. "They go at it so much it makes _me_ want to fuck him." Seeing her companion cock an eyebrow, she said, "Hey, whatever he's got between those legs of his has got to be magical for as often as she's climbing on."

Veronica snickered, climbing to sit on top of the table. She couldn't even be annoyed with the couple. Jordan deserved happiness and not an hour ago Fox had saved her from being crushed underneath another Powder Ganger falling from one of the guard towers, yanking her back at last second. "Right. It could not possibly be their very obvious chemistry."

"I have chemistry with people and I'm not jumping them in freshly slaughtered prisons," the redhead countered as she took a seat.

"No, Cass. You have _whiskey_ with people."

"Whiskey is chemistry." Hearing her friend snort, she continued her rant. "I swear I've seen more of that girl's ass in the last few weeks than I have since I met her."

"I'm sure it is such a hardship seeing that well-shaped butt." Veronica wasn't blind. She had seen the poorly hidden stares and noticed the way in which Cass had stiffened when they shared a bungalow in Jacobstown. The woman was curious, but either too afraid or too stubborn to do anything about it. It was a dismal thought for her. It was one of her most personal convictions - the belief that people should be comfortable enough with themselves to try new things and go after what they wanted.

"It _is_ a hardship," Cass stressed.

/

Jordan leaned against the bar, taking a hearty drink of water. She couldn't see the bartender's face behind his mask, but she didn't have to, to know he disapproved of her presence. The group had arrived back in New Vegas late in the evening, and, without stopping at the Lucky 38, she had accompanied Vulpes to retrieve his belongings from the Ultra Luxe. Jordan chuckled to herself. There she sat, in the midst of supreme Wasteland elegance, still wearing her leather armor and covered from head to toe in grime and blood. Her boots would be leaving tracks of the wastes, and possibly the dead, on the rungs of her stool when she left.

As Vulpes crossed the casino floor with his pack thrown over his shoulder, Jordan couldn't help but to notice a woman trailing some distance behind him. In a flowing red cocktail dress, she carried herself as though she belonged nowhere but in the lap of luxury. Her heart-shaped face was framed with sable waves that were coiffed to perfection and skimmed her jaw, balancing the flashy necklace resting against her collarbone.

Taking the stool beside her, Vulpes's face was carved into a mask of pensive disdain. Across the bar from them, Red Dress took her own perch and gave a languid wave for service.

"I think I'm going to move into the penthouse tonight," Jordan said, keeping a close watch on his reaction.

Scorn faded from his face, interest taking root. "Why?"

"I need a place where I can be alone. Besides, I'm sure you would prefer not to have Cass walking in on us all the time."

"Getting under her skin is part of the fun."

A chortle rolled out of Jordan and washed over him, bringing out an easy grin. Making her laugh brought a joy back into his life that he had forgotten was missing. A tumbler of whiskey slid to a stop in front of Vulpes, bumping his hand and pulling him from his thoughts.

"Excuse me, sir, a gift from the lovely lady in red," the bartender said in haughty tones.

The woman Jordan had noticed previously leaned onto the bar, displaying her generous cleavage, a flirtatious smile hiding behind a bit lip. The bourbon swirling in the glass matched her wide eyes. She studied the gifter more closely. _Wedding ring – antique, large stone. Rich housewife. Inattentive husband. Alone,_ she surmised.

In a light, conversational manner, she asked, "Do you know that woman?"

Tugging a vial from his bandolier, Vulpes replied, "I slept with her a few months ago. In the spring, I believe." He placed a few drops of clear liquid in into the whiskey and shook the tumbler lightly back and forth. Calling the barkeep back to him, he explained, "I believe the lady was mistaken in her directions. This should find a better home with the gentleman in the western tie."

"Certainly. I apologize for the slightest inconvenience."

Red Dress pouted, but he ignored her, turning back to Jordan instead. "Shall we go?"

The pair was mounting the stairs to leave the casino when a shout erupted from the bar. The man who Vulpes had redirected the drink to had collapsed onto the floor, foam seeping from his mouth. Looking to him in surprise, Jordan was ushered out the door before anyone noticed.

Though she had remained quiet, Vulpes could feel the tension radiating off of her by the time they were in the elevator of the Lucky 38. He let her sulk, knowing that she would soon be giving him an idea of what had made her upset. When the doors slid open to the penthouse, she proved him right.

"What the hell was that?" Jordan demanded.

They stepped onto a balcony, overlooking a sliver of the residence. Walls curved away to the left and right, giving him the sense that penthouse used every inch of its circular perch at the top of the tower. It was odd, to be sure, but he was delighted. More space meant even more surfaces to have her against.

"To what specifically are you referring?"

"The guy. Why did you kill him?"

Bringing his attention back to the fuming redhead before him, he almost sighed. "He made some particularly disparaging remarks about you and what he would have enjoyed doing with your body as I walked by."

"And that justifies murder?"

"It does when you belong to me."

Jordan blanched and he realized that perhaps implying ownership of her had not been the wisest choice of words.

"One, I am a _woman_. I could wear a molerat carcass and some shithead somewhere would still have something lewd to say. You can't go around killing everyone who makes a comment," she lectured, arms crossing over her chest. "And two, I _belong_ to you? Just because you're Legion and I'm sleeping-"

Her argument died in her throat when Vulpes crushed his lips to hers, his steady hands cupping her cheek and gripping her waist. With his tongue seeking hers, he pulled her close, breaking the kiss only when she had melted into him.

Jordan's voice was breathless as she said, "You can't win arguments like that."

"Of course I can."

"Maybe just this one."

He studied her for a moment, body pressed flush against his, her eyes shimmering in that shade of green that had always reminded him of sunlight passing through the forest canopy on Shay Mountain. Long summer days working the land beside her and frosty nights spent imagining the world far away surfaced in his memories and made him ache. She felt like home.

"Does it not bother you that I have slept with married women?" he inquired at last.

"Should it?" At his inability to answer, Jordan continued, "If we're going to do this, then what matters to me is that you are sleeping with _only_ me. I understand that your…line of work may require a certain level of intimacy at times. But I had better be the only one you're dipping your stick into."

"Stick?"

"Mhmm," she smiled.

"It's a least a branch."

Jordan snorted in laughter. "You're cute. Do we have a deal?"

"Unequivocally," he said, stealing another kiss of her lips.

* * *

 _A/N: Filler chapter is filler. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Things will begin to shift gears in the next chapter, though, and (hopefully) take a turn for the interesting._

 _See you next weekend :)_


	17. September 7-8, 2281

Look up here, I'm in heaven  
I've got scars that can't be seen  
I've got drama, can't be stolen  
Everybody knows me now  
\- David Bowie, "Lazarus"

Joshua Graham was, by all accounts, an intimidating man. It was a reputation that was borne on the back of his intense nature and honed on the edge of a Legion machete. Though it had arguably served him well in life, there were times when he did not want to be the cause of whispered explanations and immediate compliance. Most days he only wished to be Brother Joshua. So when a young woman arrived in Zion knowing who he was, but treating him as a sinner with a future rather than a legend with a past, he was intrigued.

Though he had only met her several days prior, he was certain that he knew Jordan. Not in the way that one might recount stories and list off pertinent dates, but in the way that, after observing their actions and sussing out their intentions, it could be confidently said if one was a righteous and fair human being. Jordan was reserved, keeping to herself when possible, but offering help even when it wasn't asked or expected of her. Despite her overall lack of conversation, Joshua could also see a simmering intelligence hiding in those eyes that saw everything.

He knew Jordan had arrived in Zion with the Happy Trails Caravan Company, and would be leaving as the sole survivor of a White Legs greeting party, but he didn't know why she had been with the merchants to begin with. When asked, she'd said she needed a "five minute break" from her life and left it at that. That so-called break had turned the tide of Joshua's fight for Zion, putting the Dead Horses and Sorrows on better footing against the White Legs. Whether they succeeded or failed at the Three Marys the next day, he would be forever grateful for Jordan's efforts.

Shuffling his way through the waters out of the Sorrows' camp, Joshua could discern the faint outline of the young woman relaxing atop Caterpillar Mound. Using two boulders as a makeshift chair, Jordan's head was tilted upward, eyes watching the starry night sky.

"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky displays what His hands have made," he stated as he mounted the small incline up to where she sat. "Psalms 19:1."

"Good evening, Joshua."

He frowned under his bandages. Her voice sounded hollow and distant. "Is there something on your mind?"

A small sigh slipped out of Jordan. "A million things, it feels like."

Noticing the book propped open against her torso and the PipBoy in her lap, he asked, "What were you reading?"

" _Meditations_ by Marcus Aurelius," she said, lifting and closing it before passing the book and her light source off to her companion. "I read it when I need answers, but I don't think it's going to help me this time." She had found it a few years after she'd left home and kept it with her ever since. The wisdom contained in those pages reminded Jordan of her father and in reading it, she felt as though he was with her, showing her the way.

"Watching the Heavens and reading ancient philosophers. Those 'million things' must be weighing heavily on you." Seeing the young woman's nod, he added, "Would you like to discuss it?"

He could hear the apology in her voice when she said, "I'm not sure you could give me unbiased advice."

"Try anyway."

Jordan turned her eyes back to the stars. "I'm in love with someone I have no business being in love with."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's a spy on the opposite side of a war I've found myself in."

"Jordan," he pleaded, "tell me that you are not in love with a Frumentarius." The Frumentarii were one of Edward's greatest weapons, but they absolutely could not be trusted by outsiders. They were loyal only to their brothers in red.

"I am," she sighed, "but it's not so straightforward, Joshua."

"I fail to see how it is not. The job of the Frumentarii is to make you trust them." Through clenched teeth, he added, "He will break you and if you cross him, you will find yourself in a collar."

The Courier shook her head. "We were together - before the Legion."

"Explain," Joshua sighed in exasperation. Young people always thought they were the exception.

"We grew up next to each other. There's hardly a memory I have from before that day that doesn't have him in it." Jordan lay her head back against the rock face, eyes becoming misty. "I've spent the last ten years keeping people at arm's length. I could move on from what happened to my parents and my village. But him?"

"You could not." At her nod, he added, "You realize he may be using that weakness against you? Legion methods for indoctrination are very effective. I designed them myself."

"It's what I'm afraid of."

Silence descended on Caterpillar Mound. Joshua found himself at a loss. He would like to believe in redemption, in the power of love above all else, but he knew Edward's war machine intimately. The likelihood of the boy Jordan had loved still existing was next to nil. What was most probable was that his former ally knew of the history between the two and sent the Frumentarius to win her favor because of it.

Jordan's voice drifted forward, thick with emotions she liked to pretend didn't exist. "What do I do, Joshua?"

"The Lord will reveal all things in good time." He wanted to tell her to walk away and never look back, but knew it would fall on deaf ears.

/

"You've been doing some good work for us, Mr. Fox. I wanted to show you what we've accomplished."

 _For you?_ Vulpes thought. His smile was tight as he crossed his arms over his chest. It would be his last meeting with the Omertas and it could not end fast enough. "Before we get to that, you should know that I have secured two canisters of chlorine gas for your associate. They will be delivered to you in three days' time."

"Outstanding!" Nero barked with a clap. "You Legion boys really know how to get shit done."

Guiding the Frumentarius out of his office and through the winding hallways to the casino's lower levels, the Omerta boss couldn't help but strut. The alliance with the Legion had been the best business decision he'd made in a long time. It wouldn't be long before the entire Strip belonged to the Family.

Passing through two steel doors, Vulpes was led to a once-forgotten maintenance room. Where tools, mops, and workbenches had populated the space, it now sat filled with arms and munitions. Crates packed with flamethrowers, sniper rifles, and assault carbines lined the walls and towered through the center of the room. Though the Legionary knew that the securitrons would put up a fight, it was apparent to him that the Omertas would steamroll the rest of the Strip.

His lips curled into a sly smile. They were playing right into Legion hands. The Family would take down all of the competition, leaving only themselves to be destroyed. Fools.

"Got any thoughts you want to share, Mr. Fox?" Nero asked.

Running a finger along the exposed barrel of a rifle, he said, "You've performed excellently. When the time comes, do not hesitate to strike at your enemies."

The heartless smirk that stretched across the Legionary's features unnerved Nero, but he kept his opinions to himself. "Say pal, now that our business is done, why don't you indulge a little? Play some games. Fuck a prostitute. Have some fun."

Vulpes felt himself mentally recoil. "Thank you, but-"

"You're needed elsewhere?"

"Indeed, I am. The demands of Caesar are many. I believe you understand that, running a business as you do."

"All right," the Omerta boss laughed, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "It's on the house if you ever change your mind."

With a brief nod, Vulpes turned for the exit. "Pile body upon body," he said over his shoulder before vanishing from the casino.

Outside, he spotted Yes Man milling about on the steps of the Lucky 38. Vulpes didn't have much time before he would need to head south. That didn't mean, however, that there wasn't time for a quick tumble between the sheets. Heading over to the squeaking box of bolts, he asked, "Is Jordan in?"

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Fox, but she's not!"

"Do you know when she will return?"

"Nope!"

"Did she leave any messages?"

"Not a one!"

Vulpes rubbed the back of his neck. When Jordan went out, she left information with the securitron in case he or any of her companions came looking for her. It had been something that her Followers doctor had requested after her disappearance into Big Mountain. That she left without a note suggested to him that she was either going somewhere she wanted kept secret, or, more simply, she had only stepped away from the 38 for a short time and forgotten.

Still, her absence nagged at him, an uneasy knot settling into his stomach. Where was she?

/

Arcade's ribs ached with laughter as he sank onto his side in the lounge couch. Cass had spent the last several minutes delighting him and Veronica with a story of the time she had been tricked into an evening with a robotic prostitute and he could not remember the last time he had laughed so hard.

"I was trying so hard to get outta there, I kept tripping on my pants. Nearly busted my nose, too."

"And it just kept saying 'My tentacles are for your pleasure'?" the doctor snickered.

"Yes! I've never been so terrified of sex in my life." Cass eyed the bottle she'd been emptying. Realizing that she and her friends were on the verge of draining yet another of Jordan's stash, she pouted. "Almost out."

Veronica moved to stand, but Arcade waved his hand. "I'll get it," he said. "You stay."

Rising from the pristine pre-war furniture, he stumbled his way up the stairs to the bar. "Not it, not it, not it," he murmured, working his way through the various bottles tucked behind the counter. He was halfway through the supplies when he found what he had been looking for. Righting himself and heading back to his friends, he called out, "What do you think about Olde Royale?"

His question went unheeded and when he discovered why, Arcade stopped in his tracks. Veronica had scooted to the edge of her couch and, leaning over the arm, was placing tender, but ardent, kisses on the redhead's lips. For her part, Cass appeared to be enjoying herself.

"Damn it," he grumbled and cleared his throat. As a scientist, he was trained to notice the little things, but he had failed to pick up on any signs he would be returning to _that_.

Hearing Arcade announce himself, the two women broke apart, with Veronica appearing more sheepish than her companion. A silent sigh settled into the doctor's shoulders. Jordan had Fox and apparently Veronica now had Cass. At this rate, ED-E would find love before he did.

/

Jordan was fuming. She had spent all morning butchering her way up the Three Marys only to have Joshua ditch her two hours in. He had complained that it was taking too long, staying with the Dead Horses and Sorrows, and that he was going to find another way around. "God willing, we will finish this together," he'd said before running off.

Now she was emptying the last two rounds of her magazine into a White Legs pain-maker as she took the final steps onto the riverbank. Still the man staggered forward, unwilling to yield. Realizing he was too close for her to fish out another magazine from her armor, Jordan flipped her pistol around, gripping the barrel and whipping him across the face. With a grunt, the warrior fell past her, bumping her shoulder on the way down.

Racing up the last bends of the river, Jordan loaded her sidearm once more. When she sailed through a narrow passage and found herself at the end of the canyon, her feet began to slow. Ahead of her, on the banks of the shallow fount, Joshua executed two White Legs soldiers, but halted to address the third.

Drawing nearer, Jordan saw it was Salt-Upon-Wounds who was cowering before her friend, looking for all the world like a wild animal caught in a trap. The man kept his head down, but looked from side to side in wild panic, the beads of his headdress rattling with the movement. With a hurried and tremulous voice, he begged for his life. It was a woeful, looping petition that knocked something akin to pity loose in Jordan's heart. Caesar had promised the man glory, and he, being too tribal and too trusting, had not seen that his people would be screwed on all sides.

"We warned you at Syracuse and you persisted," Joshua began, his own pistol dropping to his side. His voice was woven with the righteous disgust of a man who wanted his enemy to break before he died. "You took advantage of us at New Canaan to drive us out, and like the dogs of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion. And now you stand on holy ground, a temple to God's glory on Earth. But the only use for an animal in our temple is sacrifice." Jordan cringed as his voice shifted into a taunting sneer. "Kale watcha nei conserva oh! You understand me, don't you? Don't you!"

Salt-Upon-Wounds took notice of Jordan's unease and turning to her, begged, "Outman! Kuna-man mad! He kill all White Legs! You talk! You stop!"

Sliding her eyes towards Joshua, Jordan felt a hushed tremor pass through her. He stood with his arms crossed and through his bandages she could see the burning contempt of his gaze being directed at her.

"Don't listen to this…thing!" he demanded. "His cries are those of a mad beast caught in a thicket! He gave no mercy to my family, and I will give none to his."

"Joshua, you've already won. Look around you," she said steadily. "There's no need to kill him."

"He has a debt to pay for what he's done and I've come to collect. And so he's chosen to cower in the water like a dumb animal."

Jordan's jaw clenched for a moment as her eyes hardened. If she let her friend go down this path, she knew that the Malpais Legate would rise again and the second act would be more bloody than the first. "If what you believe is true – God, the afterlife, all of it – he _will_ pay for it. The Sorrows deserve better than to see you do this."

"I want to take from them what they took from me, from my family. In this life. I want them to suffer. I want all of them to die in fear and pain." Joshua's voice had started as indignant, but as he continued his confession, the rage drained out, an empty, forlorn tenor replacing it. "I want to have my revenge. Against him. Against Caesar. I want to call it my own, to make my anger God's anger. To justify the things I've done."

As he took a calming breath, Jordan began to sense he was no longer speaking to her. "Sometimes I tell myself that these wildfires never stop burning. But I'm the one who starts them. Not God. Not them. I can always see it in my mind. The warmth and the heat. It will always be a part of me. But not today."

Jordan watched with relief as Joshua released his prisoner, commanding him to return to the Great Salt Lake. The chieftain rose on shaky legs, giving her a brief nod of his head, and fled the canyon without sparing another glance. Treading through the waters, Jordan reached her friend and laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"That's it," he sighed. "It's finished. Thank you for…staying with me. I couldn't have done this on my own." Seeing her sympathetic smile, he continued, "Let's go find Daniel. Tomorrow will be here soon. And there is much to do."

Jordan allowed her friend to leave, hanging back to gather her thoughts for a moment. It was mid afternoon, she was hungry, and now that the adrenaline was waning, soreness and exhaustion were setting in. She would give herself a day to recuperate and repair her armor, but then her five minute break would be over. New Vegas couldn't wait forever and there was a certain Frumentarius that she had to deal with.

* * *

 _A/N: I was so nervous about introducing Joshua Graham to this story. He is such an amazing character and I was worried I would not be able to do him justice. I realize that I relied heavily on his in-game dialogue for part of this chapter, but it was such a pivotal moment for him and it was so excellently put together that I didn't want to tamper with it too much._

 _Got an opinion on how I wrote Joshua Graham? Or maybe thoughts about other developments in this chapter? Share them with me! I would seriously_ lurv _to hear them, even if you think it's all a steaming pile of crap :D_

 _See you next weekend._


	18. September 24-25, 2281

If I wasn't here tomorrow would anyone lose sleep?  
If I wasn't hard and hollow  
Then maybe you would miss me  
\- Skillet, "Would It Matter"

"Relax, kid. I'm sure she's fine."

"Don't 'kid' me, Cass. The last time Jordan disappeared like this, she was definitely _not_ fine." Veronica hated it when Cass addressed her as a juvenile. The implication that her opinions and concerns were somehow worth less because of her comparative age was insulting.

"I think Veronica has a point." Arcade took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses on the cotton of his lab coat. "Where would she have gone, though?"

Cass emptied the last dregs of her whiskey into a glass. "Maybe's she's shacked up with Fox somewhere, having insane amounts of kinky sex."

"I doubt it. This just doesn't feel right to me." Veronica tugged at the sleeve of her tunic. She felt so stupid for not realizing sooner how much time had passed since Jordan had left. Cass had occupied so much of her attention for the last two and half weeks.

"She could be out exploring. I've seen the map on her PipBoy. There's a lot of places she hasn't been to and if 'curiosity is the lust of the mind,' our darling Jordan is a whore."

"But what about the Legion? She wasn't going to go through on the Boomers. Maybe they found out?"

"Give it time, Ron," Cass chimed in. "If she's not back in a few days, we'll start looking for her. She can take care of herself."

"Yeah, maybe." Veronica was frustrated. She hated the idea of waiting around about as much as she hated being called "Ron." Though Fox was a plausible explanation, exploring had most likely gotten her friend into trouble and she might be dying in a cave somewhere.

/

Veronica tapped her fingers in an impatient rhythm against the countertop. She'd made her way into Lower Brimstone looking for Jordan's boy toy after searching everywhere else on the Strip and found him to be rather unavailable. He was lounging some fifty feet away from her, taking in the performances of several strippers and sipping on what she assumed was a whiskey.

 _Please look this way. It will be awkward as hell if I have to go over there,_ she begged _._

She hated this casino. Everything reeked and one could never trust a stain. Cass was the only one in the group who didn't mind the place and everyone else preferred The Tops. They at least had some Old World charm over there without being a bunch of freaking weirdos like the Ultra Luxe.

She started to fidget. She was convinced that if she sat on that barstool much longer she might catch something. When her incessant tapping earned a glare from the bartender, Veronica apologized and slunk away. She was going to have to shore up her courage and go pay Fox a visit.

She approached with a nervous caution that caught his eye. "Do you have a minute?"

Relieved when he stood to follow her, she led them to a couch in the far corner of the room, away from prying ears.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, having gotten sidetracked by the fact that he appeared to be ogling women who weren't her friend.

Vulpes threw his arm across the back of the seat, stealing a quick glance around the room in the process. "An unfortunate part of doing business with people is that you occasionally have to spend money in their establishments as a show of goodwill." She didn't need to know that he was there to observe an NCR colonel who had caught the Legion's interest.

"Oh. Is Jordan with you?"

He noticed how rushed and concerned her words were and how she seemed unfazed by his explanation. He would have expected her to balk at the idea of shaking hands with the Omertas. "No, why do you ask?"

"Shit." She picked at the ends of her tunic. "She's missing and I just thought she might be with you."

A jolt of apprehension shot through him and he found himself leaning forward. He knew he should have investigated after his talk with Yes Man. "What do you mean 'missing'?"

The words flew out of Veronica as she struggled to keep her frustrated tears from forming. "She's been gone for two and a half weeks. I can't even track her PipBoy. I mean, it's normal for her to duck out every once in awhile, but I have no idea where she is or if Caesar has her and I'm really scared that something's wrong. The last time she went missing it was horrible. She was kidnapped and tortured and…"

Vulpes shoved his drink into the scribe's hands. "Calm down. We will find her. I have some associates I can check with."

The brunette surprised both herself and Fox when she wrapped an arm around his neck and thanked him. "Nobody else would listen."

He shook his head, doing his best to comfort his lover's friend. It was an awkward experience for him, having not bothered to show much compassion towards anyone other than Jordan in years. "Thank you for telling me."

/

Alerio almost choked on his dinner when Vulpes stormed into his room at the Vault 21 Hotel. He'd had a nagging suspicion that he should have eaten in the diner like a normal person and now that he had ejected half-chewed iguana onto his plate, he was annoyed. That had been a decent meal. Now there was spittle all over it.

"I need information," Inculta said.

The younger Frumentarius wiped his mouth. "Yes, sir. On what?"

"The Courier. I was just informed by one of her companions that she has gone missing. I need to know - discreetly - if anyone has seen her." Vulpes knew that Caesar had ordered her to Nellis during her last visit to the Fort. If she had at last decided to go, his fear was that she may have been killed by their "security system" or never made it there at all. If she was with the Boomers and was simply winning over their hearts and minds, he could rest easy and come up with something to tell her beloved scribe.

"Follow me, sir."

The pair made their way to the hotel lobby, the only place in the building that sat above ground and could receive signal for a HAM radio. Speaking in hushed tones with Sarah, the owner and manager of the business, Alerio convinced her that his friend had a family emergency and needed to use her communications equipment. Once she had retreated into the vault, the Legionary moved behind the counter, dragging an office chair with him.

"She thinks I 'call home' once a week to check on my 'wife and kids.' It's how I send in my reports," he smirked, dialing into the necessary frequency.

"Fascinating," Vulpes muttered. This was going to take some time and he was already wearing a path into the tile floor.

/

"Is everything okay?" Sarah asked from the doorway. An hour had gone by and "Jack" was still using her radio.

"Oh yes!" he beamed. "His sister's still in labor. We should be hearing back any minute now."

Vulpes eyed them from his chair across the room. Ms. Weintraub was buying what Alerio was selling, hook, line, and sinker. She squealed in such a robust way that the older Frumentarius was startled.

"Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations, mister! It must be so exciting to be an uncle."

"Exhilarating," he deadpanned, rubbing a hand across his brow. He was in desperate need of sleep and her bubbly personality made him want to crucify bunnies.

"Well, I'm headed to bed. You two have a great night! And congratulations again!"

"Thanks! You, too!" Alerio called out as she walked down the stairs. The smile made an abrupt exit from his face as soon as she was out of sight. "Dirty fucking profligate." Seeing the cocked brow on his commander's face, he elaborated, "She'll sleep with anybody. I even heard a rumor she slept with the Courier in exchange for vault merchandise."

The official stance of the Legion was that homosexuality and its corresponding acts was a punishable crime. If Jordan had slept with a woman, though, Vulpes would have zero qualms supporting it. He would have to ask her if there was any truth to it.

Minutes of silence passed between the Legionaries. Only a few contacts had yet to report back – Westside, Primm, and Camp Golf. Vulpes had been considering rolling up his discarded jacket to use as a pillow when the radio began chirping, the dulcet tones of Morse code coming through. It wasn't uncommon for Legionaries in the field to use the method when sending information back to the Fort. Profligates often mistook the sounds for idle tapping and ignored it.

Alerio scrawled the message out, making a furious attempt to keep up. "Sir," he said, the last letters falling into place. "They found her."

"Where?" Vulpes was at the man's side in a flash.

"Camp Golf. She's been injured."

"Futuo! We need to get her out of there."

"Are you sure that's wise, sir?"

"Wise? Absolutely not," Vulpes snapped. "However, it would be perilous to leave her in NCR hands where they might persuade her to their cause, plant something on her, or completely remove her from the playing field."

"Oh."

"Yes, ' _oh_.' Should any of that happen, Caesar's only exuberance will come when you and I are being strung to crosses for our failure."

"I-I understand, sir. Do you have a plan?"

He paced for a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck. "In the morning, you will accompany me to Camp Golf. There are NCR uniforms stashed nearby. We will retrieve the Courier at the behest of Ambassador Crocker so that she may recover comfortably at home."

"Yes, sir."

Vulpes moved towards the door to leave. "Until then, rest. We leave at first light."

/

Alerio swallowed hard, but did his best to hide it. He had been unable to tell if the paperwork his commander had was authentic or a complete forgery, but they were now being judged on it.

"And this is from Ambassador Crocker?" the medical officer asked. "Sawbones" was stitched into his shirt. Must have been his nickname.

"Yes, sir. Straight from the man himself." Vulpes gave his most disarming smile. He'd lowered the face wrap of his uniform, but left the helmet and goggles in place. "No need to make it too easy for them," he'd said. They did have his face plastered throughout their offices and camp sites, after all.

"And you're sure she will continue to receive treatment at the 38?" The man had asked the question as though he meant something else entirely by "treatment."

Inculta's voice was lilting, a near perfect imitation of a southern NCR farm boy. "Oh, yes, sir. The very best."

Sawbones eyed the pair for a moment. He didn't like turning over this girl to that bigwig wannabe Crocker, but it seemed he had no choice. Refusing to do so could turn into a political shit show. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "All right. Let's get you two a stretcher."

/

"Can we stop? I have to take-"

Jordan's head was throbbing and her eyes would barely open. What time was it? Where was she?

"-it quick."

A blurry face swam into view over her.

"Hmm. It seems you're trying to wake. Settle-"

She failed to hear the rest as the world faded away from her.

/

It was late evening by the time the trio made it to the outskirts of Freeside, stopping in an abandoned house to change out of their stolen uniforms and dispose of the stretcher. The two Legionaries had been on edge since they had left Golf, knowing that Jordan's deadweight made it more difficult to defend themselves in the event of an attack.

Passing through the gate and into the Strip, Vulpes noticed her stirring for a second time. She seemed to recognize him for a moment, her fingers curling into his button-down shirt, before passing back out.

Without saying a word or exchanging a look, Alerio left his commander with the woman and made his way back to his hotel, appearing to the casual observer as two strangers happening through the gate at the same time. Vulpes, on the other hand, readjusted Jordan's weight and approached the securitron dawdling by the doors of the Lucky 38.

"Wow!" it said. "She looks rough! I bet you'd like to take her upstairs so she can rest, huh?"

He nodded in confirmation. "Is anyone in the suite?"

"Oh, you bet." The screen blinked. "Miss Santangelo is there, that happy little eyebot, and the dog!"

"Will you let them know we're coming?"

The securitron waved its arms about. "Sure thing! You head on up!"

Veronica was waiting by the elevator when the doors slid open, wringing her hands and talking to herself. Seeing her friend carried in unconscious broke her heart.

"Is she okay? What happened?" ED-E beeped in agreement behind her.

"The NCR had her, but I have not had the opportunity to look at her file yet," Vulpes replied. As he laid Jordan down on her sheets and set to work removing her boots, Rex jumped onto the bed and curled against her. A worried whine escaped him as he watched his master's partner try to make her comfortable.

Veronica fled the room, returning a moment later with a damp washcloth. "Did they not bathe her at all?"

Vulpes hoped they hadn't. The idea of Sawbones putting his hands on her more than absolutely necessary made him agitated. "Can you get a message to Dr. Gannon?"

Tossing the washcloth to him, the scribe took ED-E into the lobby to make a recording. Upon her return, she noted that Fox had her friend's care well under control and set about treading around the bedroom while they waited for Arcade.

By the time the Followers doctor arrived with a very anxious eyebot in tow, Vulpes had removed Jordan's outer clothing, laying them across the weapons locker at the end of her bed. Under his direction, Veronica had also swapped cloths with him every few minutes to rinse the dirt from the fabric. The armor and the grime had hidden a variety of bruises and stitches from sight and the more they uncovered, the more the mystery of her previous whereabouts deepened.

"So he exists," Arcade quipped, having heard of the man but never met him. Seeing the disapproving glare that Fox threw his way, he changed his tone. "Do you have her medical records?"

Vulpes fished them from his suit jacket before resuming his care for the unconscious woman. It did not escape the doctor's notice when he began to brush stray hairs away from her face with a soft touch, his jaw clenching with his efforts.

"This doesn't make any sense," Arcade said after several minutes. "They found her outside the Northern Passage, but rather than take her to the New Vegas Medical Clinic, they hauled her all the way to Camp Golf. It says here it might have been a yao guai attack. Swelling and contusions to the left side of her face. One hundred and twenty-two stitches on her back and thighs, but no stimpacks administered? And they were doping her."

"What do you mean?" Vulpes demanded. He could already feel the rage seeping into his veins.

"They were using muscle relaxants on her – ones that you can't get outside of the NCR. _The Followers_ can't even get them. It also lists one dose of an antipsychotic that the United States outlawed before the Great War because communist countries used it for torture. From what I see in her file, there's absolutely no reason for her to have been put on them at any point. All she needed were stimpacks and stitches - this would have all been healed by now."

Veronica was stunned. "Why would they do that?"

"I don't know," Arcade said. Adjusting his glasses and laying the records on Jordan's desk, he continued, "We will have to wait for her to wake up. Maybe she can tell us."

Vulpes leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees as he rubbed his face. The night already felt unending.

/

"I don't think he slept at all," Veronica whispered.

Arcade finished stirring his coffee and turned to her, placing his spoon in the kitchen sink. "Do we think he is who he says he is?" Seeing her confused expression, he clarified, "He's supposed to be a businessman, right? But he somehow manages to find and retrieve Jordan and her medical records from a heavily guarded NCR camp? No doctor worth his salt would have just allowed her to leave in such terrible condition."

"Jordan trusts him. That's enough for me."

Arcade stared into his cup, choosing to remain silent. It was quite clear that Fox cared deeply for his friend, but there were enough details screaming "not a businessman" to make the doctor question who she was shacking up with.

/

Jordan's eyes slid open and a groan escaped her lips. Everything was stiff and her stitches were itching. Attempting to roll onto her side, she found Rex's head and paw situated on her abdomen, a firm and obstinate signal that she was not going anywhere.

"Thank Mars," a velvet whisper floated forward. "I'll get Dr. Gannon."

A moment passed and she tried to shift into an upright position. Her mouth was dry and she wanted nothing more than to move, even if just a little bit. Her cyberdog, however, insisted otherwise, grunting and huffing in an attempt to tell her that she was going to stay put. Knowing it was an argument he would win, Jordan relented and settled for running her fingers through his fur.

Arcade remained quiet as he entered the room and began to examine her. He didn't need to say anything. It was all there in the lines of his face – frustration, disappointment, worry.

"According the NCR, you were attacked by a yao guai. Care to explain?" It was a fair question. Those mutated bears weren't found around New Vegas.

With a coughing laugh, Jordan asked, "Is that what they told you?"

* * *

 _A/N: I want to give a massive, massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favorited so far. It's still blowing my mind and means so much to me!_


	19. September 25-26, 2281

Long road to ruin there in your eyes  
Under the cold street lights  
No tomorrow, no dead end in sight  
\- Foo Fighters, "Long Road to Ruin"

"Bastards."

"What do you mean?"

Jordan winced as she was helped into a seated position, smiling gratefully when Veronica handed her a glass of water. "I was attacked by a yao guai, maybe a hundred yards from the Northern Passage, on my way back home. But it wasn't anything I couldn't take care of myself."

"Then why were you patched up and drugged in an NCR camp?" Arcade's arms were now folded over his chest.

She sighed and took a look at each of her gathered companions. Vulpes deserved to learn her secrets without an audience, but neither the scribe nor the doctor would be open to a request for privacy at that moment. "Because they jumped me on the other end."

"Again, why?"

She could feel Vulpes's unyielding stare boring into her, could almost feel the clenching of his jaw from where she sat. "I went to Zion. They knew somehow and assumed – incorrectly – that I was helping a tribe that has allied itself with Caesar."

"So Crocker can add violent paranoia to his list of political skills." Veronica shook her head. "Idiot."

"Him and Hanlon both." Jordan ran a finger along a row of stitches on her thigh. "Since I wasn't the most sociable houseguest, he thought he could have a confession forced out of me."

"How long were you there?" Vulpes asked. She could have sworn she heard the sharpening of a machete in the harshness of his voice.

"Two days, maybe. Could have been longer." Seeing the looks exchanged among her friends, she added, "Can I have some time alone with Fox?"

Arcade looked almost insulted, but followed when the scribe tugged him away, Rex slinking ruefully beside them. Jordan at last allowed herself to take in Vulpes's appearance as the retreating group shut the bedroom door behind them. Despite sitting in a chair he'd lifted from the kitchen table, she could tell that his shirt was wrinkled yet still tucked in. His shoes were gone, stored close by she assumed. Most notably was the hollowness of his eyes and the way his hair, neatly combed and styled under most circumstances, fell in wild disarray.

"You look haunted." And murderous.

He turned his glare to her. "What were you doing in Zion?"

"I was never going to go to Nellis." Her voice was tremulous, edging on brittle as she admitted to her past omissions. "I met the Boomers before you ever found me in Nipton."

Vulpes's fists were closing, his knuckles turning white, and Jordan could see the furrow of his brow deepening. "And you did not feel that this was pertinent information for Caesar?"

She blew out a breath, cheeks puffing with the exercise. "I'm not working for Caesar," she confessed. "I haven't been."

He was up now, pacing the room and refusing to look at her. "Why would you do this? Do you know the position you have put me in?" he demanded. With her silence, he added, "You should have told me."

"To what end?" she cried out. "You're a _Frumentarius_ now, Shelby. Have been for a long time. I want to trust you, to know that everything we've been doing was real, but how can I?"

She didn't have to explain her reasoning further, it was all clear as day, but it dealt a blow to his heart regardless. He marched to her bedside, towering over her as he invaded her space and grabbed her hand to place it on his chest. Under the splay of her fingers, she could feel the racing of his heart, rattling against cage walls.

"Does this feel like a lie to you?" his voice quavered.

Pain flashed through Jordan's eyes at his assertion. "What could you have done? Asked Caesar really nicely to let me be your slave?"

"Yes," he snapped, pulling away from her. Moving to sit in the abandoned dining chair, he rubbed at the back of his head, where the buzzed surface of his scalp met glossy strands of ink at the top. "I could have kept you safe, even smuggled you out if you wanted. But now? Caesar will figure it out and I won't be able to protect you."

Silence passed between them. Jordan realized he had used the phrase "figure it out," implying that he would not be the one to tell his commander of her subterfuge. He had told her in Jacobstown that he didn't buy into every piece of Legion propaganda. Perhaps there was still hope that she would not lose him again.

"Join me," she whispered.

"What?"

She hated seeing the shock and revulsion twisting his features. "I have a twenty year plan. I've been working on it for weeks. We can give New Vegas a future – a better one than what either the Legion or the NCR is offering. We can save ourselves, Shelby."

Vulpes ran a hand over his face as he grabbed his shoes from the end of the bed. "I have to go."

"Okay." When they were younger and would fight, he would always hide himself away afterwards. It had taken time, but she had eventually come to understand that he wasn't nursing a wounded ego. He was coming to terms with what had been said. It was his way of processing.

"I will not betray what you have shared with me, Jordan. Not for now, at least." He shook his head. "But I need space."

"I know. I haven't forgotten." She watched his withdrawing figure, jacket in one hand and shoes in the other, as he left her bedroom. When she heard the dinging of the elevator in the lobby, tears began to pool in her eyes. She had gambled and been left with an uncertain hand.

Maybe he did have genuine feelings for her. Maybe he had been pursuing her on his own time and keeping all the hormonal details to himself when questioned by Caesar. Or maybe seducing her had been a part of the plan all along. She had no way of knowing, but she wanted so fiercely for him to choose her that it burned.

A moment later, Veronica's head peeked in through the doorway. "Hey, I just saw Fox leave…" She was shocked to see the tears streaking down her friend's face. She had never seen her cry before and doubted anyone had. "Are you okay?"

With a shake of Jordan's head, the scribe was crossing the room, the door left standing open behind her, and crawled into the bed. Wrapping her arms around the redhead, she asked, "Did you have a fight?"

Jordan nodded. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough few days," she sniffled. At the sound, Rex trotted into the room. Taking a seat on the floor beside her, he laid his head against her hand on the mattress. "First I get attacked, then I'm kidnapped and tortured – again – and now I've taken a chance that will probably blow up in my face."

"What do you mean?"

A low whine whistled out of the cyberdog as he nudged her. "We'll say Fox is upset with me and leave it at that."

/

The sound of crunching gravel fell on deaf ears as Vulpes stalked his way into the wastes. He'd been too livid to sit still after Jordan's revelation and the thought of staying confined to his room at the Ultra Luxe was stifling. So he'd changed into a set of profligate armor, grabbed his Ripper, and went for a lengthy walk to nowhere. Wandering through the flats north of Vegas for several hours, he willed himself to cool off before turning back towards the crumpled remains of a building near the Crimson Caravan compound.

Nearing the pre-war structure, he could see that the bridge above had collapsed onto it and piles of rubble were left to sit against two sides. With nimble movements, he scaled the concrete slabs, using exposed rebar for handholds. Cresting the top, he found that he could see for miles in most directions, but scowled when he saw the Lucky 38. It stood in the distance, looming over everything around it and casting judgement on him for leaving, for losing his way. Turning his back to it, he took a seat on the rooftop, sagging into a pile of debris behind him.

Vulpes could admit that he was pissed with both Jordan and himself. For weeks she had led him along, working against the Legion while sleeping with him and doubting his feelings for her. Had she been using him the entire time? The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the irony of being used by a woman did not escape him. He had done it so often as a Frumentarius, never giving his victim a second thought as he walked away.

He was also furious that he had not figured her out sooner. He was a master at his craft and should have picked up on something, anything that would have given him a clue as to where her loyalty truly lay. Her allegiance – it was something else that bothered him. Vulpes had been deluding himself into believing it would never become an issue. He had convinced himself that she would either join him or flee, but it had never occurred to him that she might work against him.

 _Fool_. He had let his heart and his libido lead the way with Jordan. It was Rules 1 and 2 of Chapter 1 in _How Not to Suck at Being a Spy_ – always keep one's guard up and never ever let emotions make decisions.

Still, however, the agony in her eyes as she confessed her distrust of him flitted about in his mind. Perhaps she had not been using him at all. Perhaps she had been as nonsensical as he, letting her desires rule her choices. Then what?

Vulpes sighed, throwing a stray rock into the distance. He was still devoted to her ten years later. It had been her memory, not the Legion's teachings or threats, that had kept him from letting another woman in. There had been plenty over the years, on whom he'd honed his skills and talents, but he had never shared more than his body with them. It was what made his predicament all the more excruciating.

What in the name of Mars was he going to do? Not revealing the information to Caesar would not be a problem for him. But, through Jordan's own actions or through the work of another Frumentarius, his commander would find out. It was inevitable. Could he convince her to leave then, knowing that a staggering bounty would be on her head? Or perhaps he could convince Caesar to let him take ownership of her under the guise of teaching her one of his infamous lessons.

Vulpes realized then that he had been wrong in Jacobstown. It was _now_ that he was well and truly fucked.

/

Dr. Usanagi sat quietly in her office, clipboard balancing in her lap. Craig Boone was parked across from her, staring at the pack of cigarettes in his hand. The former sniper had opened up and settled quite a bit in the last month, no longer fidgeting his way through their sessions. That didn't mean he was ready, though.

"What have you learned about yourself?"

He glanced up at her, an easiness coming to rest around his eyes. "I'm too hard on myself. The worst things that have happened to me were not my fault." His thumb ran along the edge of the pack. "I didn't give the orders at Bitter Springs and I wasn't the one who betrayed Carla. Holding myself responsible for those things isn't productive, so I need to let go more often."

Usanagi twisted in her seat. She needed to find new chairs before she took on another client. The springs of the cushion were poking into her legs. "How do you feel about being here now?"

"I'm okay with it," Craig replied. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he laid the cigarettes onto the table beside him. They could wait until he left. "I've talked to you more than I have…probably anyone, ever. You're not so bad."

"Thank you," she smiled. "And how about you? How do you feel about yourself now?"

He nodded, scooting a foot out to rest at a more comfortable angle. "I feel better, like I'm not carrying around a dead weight anymore. Like I'm really breathing for the first time."

"Your thoughts on this being our last scheduled session?"

The skin around Craig's eyes crinkled and his lips twitched. "It's great. I've been having all this energy build up and I'm ready to go. I'm not anxious, I'm not depressed. Just ready."

 _Like hell you are,_ she thought. She did not think he was anywhere near ready to terminate therapy. His newfound bliss had come too quickly and wasn't stable enough yet. The odds of him hitting a roadblock and relapsing into drug abuse or possibly even violence were high. Usanagi could see it coming a mile away, but her efforts to convince him not to quit had been fruitless. It wasn't uncommon for psychotherapy patients in the Wasteland to think they were doing better than they really were.

"Is there anything you have not shared that you might regret leaving unsaid?"

"Just a 'thank you.'"

She gave the most genuine, warm smile she could muster. "You are most welcome, Craig." They both stood, he collecting his cigarettes and she laying aside her clipboard. As she followed him to the lobby, she reminded him, "If you ever feel the need to talk, I have an open door policy. You're welcome to check-in at any time."

He expressed his appreciation as she watched him leave. Just outside the door, as she expected, he paused to light a smoke before heading off. Standing at the end of the counter, she said to no one in particular, "He is going to get himself killed one of these days."

The clinic guards shifted in wary silence.

* * *

 _A/N: You didn't think I forgot about Boone, did you? ;) And "Long Road to Ruin" by the Foo Fighters finally makes an appearance. It's such a fantastic song and was a source of inspiration for writing this story._

 _See you next weekend :)_


	20. October 7, 2281

Dreaming about Providence  
And whether mice or men get second tries  
Maybe we've been livin' with our eyes half open  
Maybe we're bent and broken, broken  
\- Switchfoot, "Meant to Live"

Almost two weeks had gone by and Jordan was kicking herself out of her own house. With her wounds healed and the stitches gone, she had become restless waiting around in the Lucky 38. There was only so much pacing, pool playing, and holotape watching she could take before she needed to see some action again. Left in peace for too long and she found herself _wanting_ to be shot at.

Standing by her bed, she carefully inspected two different sets of armor, her weapons already decided on. She could take the leather armor. It was more comfortable during the day, but it was October now and the weather was growing cool at night. She might have to sleep outside and the prospect of carrying a blanket for warmth was unappealing. Her riot gear, on the other hand, wouldn't be as pleasant during the day, but would eliminate the need for carrying extra items. There was also the stealth suit hanging in her wardrobe. Veronica had disabled-

The dinging of the elevator in the lobby caught Jordan's attention and brought an end to her debate. Stepping out of the car was the Legionary she had not seen or heard from since her rescue from Camp Golf. Forgoing words, she simply angled her head, confident that her confused expression conveyed enough.

"I'm leaving for the Fort. I do not know when I will return and thought that I should inform you." Vulpes walked to the midpoint of the bedroom, hands clasped behind his back. He was reserved, professional even. Jordan wasn't used to seeing him like this.

"Why would I need to know?"

He shifted his stance. "I did not want you to think that we were done."

"Oh," she replied. That was unexpected. "Well, I appreciate it, but I'm about to leave as well. Headed south. Care for some company?"

Vulpes eyed her with caution for a moment. She would use the time to further her efforts in persuading him to her cause, but it would be ridiculous to decline her. They would likely be following the same path for most of the journey and having her slogging in silence a hundred yards behind him would just be awkward.

"Fine," he said a little cooler than he intended. As he made to exit her room, he glanced over his shoulder. "Take the leather armor."

/

"Oh, hey, Boone," Cass said. He didn't like the way she was looking at him as he met her on the steps of the Lucky 38. She seemed anxious. Maybe something was wrong or maybe she had heard something about him.

"Hey," he said. "Is Jordan around?"

The woman hesitated a beat. "No, she left with a friend a few hours ago."

"Any idea where she's headed? Or when she might be back?" He rubbed at the scruff on his chin.

"No, just south. She took some armor with her, so I think she's going to be out for a while. Is everything okay?" Cass still gave the impression of being uneasy.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I've been seeing a therapist. I wanted to tell Jordan how sorry I am for the things I've done." He paused before adding, "Do you think she'll take me back?"

Confusion swept through Cass's features. "I…don't know." She wondered how Jordan was supposed to take him back if they had never actually been a couple in the first place.

"Okay. Thanks anyway," Boone replied. Ignoring her bewildered "bye," he turned and made his way toward the gate to Freeside. He didn't want to sit around New Vegas waiting on Jordan to return. Having taken the last week to save up extra caps doing odd jobs around Westside, he wanted to get his pardon taken care of as soon as possible. There were apologies and explanations he wanted to get off of his chest. He was just going to have to crash whatever the Courier was doing with her friend.

/

Jordan closed her eyes, a joyful smile tugging at her lips. "We're going to have to stop soon," she announced.

Vulpes turned to see that she had halted her progress. He had been so lost in thought, formulating plans for assaulting a Ranger station, that he had failed to notice the storm gathering on the horizon. The temperature was dropping and the air that had been stagnant all day was now becoming breezy, moving through the loose tendrils of Jordan's hair with increasing quickness. They wouldn't have long.

"I know a place." She motioned for him to follow and set off towards Helios One.

"We could stay there," he said, gesturing to the decrepit El Dorado Gas & Service nearby.

"This area's not safe. Where we're going is off the road and close enough to the NCR that Vipers won't bother us."

After traversing rolling mounds of pocked dirt, they arrived at a seedy metal shack in the shadow of a mountainous outcropping of rock. Old tires and shelving lay discarded out front, along with the bones of a rusted out barrel. They would not be visible from the road, or from anywhere else, it appeared.

Entering the meager shelter, Vulpes looked around. A mattress lay in one corner, separated from a small fire pit by a bookshelf. A defunct refrigerator leaned against one wall, a computer terminal resting at its feet. What caught his attention, however, was the ancient shopping cart filled with bent tin cans and a human skeleton sitting in the darkest corner.

Seeing where his focus was drawn, Jordan explained. "This place was trashed the first time I came here. I might have…cleaned it up a bit. Never got around to taking care of Fred, though."

"Fred?"

"I named him."

/

For once Vulpes was enjoying the sound of the rain beating on the roof of their little sanctuary. The handful of times it had rained in the last five years had been unpleasant experiences, turning the Fort into a slick, muddy pile of human frustration. Even living at the top of the hill, nothing he owned escaped a sodden fate when the rains came.

The pair was dry where they were, though, and Jordan had prepared a small dinner of roasted squirrel earlier in the evening. Comfortable and warm, Vulpes found himself staring into the fire, but was soon distracted from his peace by the sound of a pencil scratching against paper.

"What are you doing?" It was the first he had spoken to her in hours.

"Jotting down an idea for my plan."

"Why?"

"So I can remember it later."

"No," he sighed. "Why are you trying to take New Vegas for yourself?"

Jordan paused in her scribbling and set the stationery in her lap. At first she had decided to stay and fight because she did not want to give up living at the Lucky 38. It had air conditioning, hot water, and soft sheets. She could even shave her legs. Somewhere along the way, however, she had realized just how desperately the people of New Vegas needed someone to stand up for them. Being the sole person she knew of with a robot army at their command, she felt a certain duty to be that person for them.

"House was a tyrant with absolutely no care for the people who lived in his city or its outlying communities. He was _proud_ of the fact that he didn't care. The NCR is built around the same system that destroyed the world 200 years ago. It's mired in politics and apathy. If they take the Mojave, they will tax the people to within an inch of their lives and only use them for the dam's electricity. They will not improve the quality of anything here. It would just lead to 'no taxation without representation' all over again."

"That is a given," he countered. "Why do you think we are here in the first place? We are liberating the people from a corrupt and selfish government."

Jordan studied his face for a moment and the way the shadows danced across its sculpted lines. _Beautiful in any light_ , she mused. "Let's put aside the ideological controversies of the Legion for a minute and imagine what would happen if they gained control. You could easily take the West – all of it, to the coast. Holding it would be an entirely different matter. The NCR wouldn't have to fight hard enough to kill you, just hard enough to make things inconvenient. It's your supply lines that would do you in."

Vulpes interjected, his voice taut with convictions. He usually enjoyed a spirited debate, but this was a dangerous game they were playing. "We have the Fort, we will have the dam and New Vegas. There are settlements between here and the coast. Other means of resupply will fall into place."

Jordan shook her head. "The communities in the NCR depend on their government and the caravans for survival – believe me, I have traveled those roads. They can't and won't support the Legion." She could see that her companion was growing more frustrated as she laid out the truth Caesar had not wanted him to see. "Answer me this. Caesar has built his entire empire around war. He has marched you from Flagstaff to the Hoover Dam and spent _five long years_ trying to take it. If the East manages to carve its way into the West and take it, then what? What happens to the East? And what happens when you have no one left to fight?"

"The East will hold," he asserted, eyes blazing. Jordan could see through his irritation that she was starting to wear on him, presenting points he had been too busy to consider. "There is nothing that could rival Hoover Dam between the Colorado and the coast."

"It is not the strength of the West that will slow you, Shelby. Not its people, not its munitions, not its fortifications. It'll be its weaknesses that will defeat you and the NCR's greatest weakness is its size. It will take everything the Legion has to hold the West, and it'll have to forfeit the East to do it. You can't hold both. Supply lines and size. It'll be a death by a thousand cuts and they will all be by your own hand."

Jordan had the Caesar's right hand beat and she knew it. The look on his face had lost the edge of its fury and what remained was a forlorn consternation. Pushing on, she asked, "Do you realize that, in your own way, you are a slave?"

"Why do you want my help, Jordan?" he asked in response, his voice growing weary in the corners.

"Why would I not?"

"I would cause you more grief than anything else. When the people of New Vegas, including your friends, discover who I truly am, do you think they would welcome me with open arms? No. They would attack me and cast you out, turning their backs on any future you could provide."

"That is just a matter of damage control," she said with a flippant wave of her hand. Drawing a knee up, she continued, "What future do you see for yourself in the Legion?"

"Caesar has a brain tumor and has been given less than a year to live. Lanius is next in line, but he is not respected by the rest of the leadership, nor does he in turn respect the rest of the Legion. He has made it clear that he has no use for or belief in the services of the Frumentarii. I and some others are in the process of convincing Caesar to name someone else as his successor before he passes. Killing Lanius to remove the likelihood of rebellion will be next on my list after that." He left out his long-term forecast. If he stayed in the Frumentarii, he would either make a mistake one day and be executed for it, or he would grow old and suffer an assassination at the hands of lower ranking spy looking to take his place. If he ascended to the throne, it would be the same. Retirement was not an option under the Bull.

"So the Legion is in turmoil and your future rests in the balance of if/thens. Is no one trying to save Caesar?"

Vulpes picked at a stray thread by the knee of his trousers. "Lucius is in charge of that detail. The Auto-Doc is broken and since he has thus far been unable to locate the necessary parts, he also has men rounding up all available medical texts and is assessing known doctors."

He could see her nod from the corner of his eye as she returned to an earlier part of their discussion. "You never answered my question about your status. Whether you realize it or not, Caesar owns you. He sees you as a powerful weapon that he can wield, so he keeps you close."

"Caesar respects and appreciates my skills. In return for the glory I have brought to his Legion, he has gifted me with superior lodgings, armor, and women," Vulpes bit out.

The last one on his list hurt Jordan more than she dared to admit, but she refused to let it show. "He has _bought_ you, ensured your allegiance with those gifts. What has he given the Legate? Just a helmet and a blind eye. Caesar knows how intelligent you are and how dangerous that can be to him. As much as he gives, he will _take_ when you become a threat."

"How could I be of any danger to Caesar? I seek only to serve him."

"If your mind is turned against him, you could destroy the Legion and he knows it. What is that Old World saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Jordan countered. "I also doubt that he would turn over his empire to someone who is brilliant enough to transform it into something else – if you were considering the job for yourself."

"And what would you give me?" Vulpes said.

By the light of the fire, Jordan could see the irritation and resentment shoring up in his eyes again. "Anything you wanted," she said with a tender voice. "Leader of the military? Sure. Librarian? Let's do it. Farmer with a pond and some Bighorners? You got it. Your future is yours to choose, Shelby. I only ask for your help in freeing the Mojave from tyrants to secure that future's existence."

There was a heavy silence hanging in the air between them, one that Jordan thought would stretch on forever and swallow them whole. The only sounds to fill the shack were the rolls of thunder and percussion of rain outside. As she was about to give up and go to bed, Vulpes finally spoke.

"Ten years of work, ten years of survival, and you ask that I turn my back on it?" His voice was fatigued, more from his life than from their argument. "You ask much of me."

"What are you afraid of?" she asked in such a quiet voice that he almost didn't hear it.

"Aside from being crucified or disemboweled? Or seeing it happen to you?" he gave a bitter laugh. "Jordan, the things that I have done to secure-"

She cut him off, swiveling to sit on her knees and face him. "Stop. I've seen House's file on you. I know about Searchlight and Nelson. I know about the Twisted Hairs. I know you were the mind behind a lot of heinous shit and that you've probably slept with an ungodly amount of women." As an afterthought she added in haste, "And maybe men. I don't know. I'm not judging." He looked at her incredulously, but she continued. "My point is that I know the things you've done and it doesn't make me think any less of you. You haven't just survived, you have thrived and we wouldn't be…whatever the hell we are if you hadn't."

Vulpes examined her, taking note of the earnest light in her eyes and the way stray locks of hair framed her face. "Will you consider leaving?"

"What?"

"If you will not join me and the Legion, will you consider leaving the Mojave? Please? I can get you out, smuggle you to wherever you want to go, but if you stay, the stakes are higher than they've ever been. We could both be killed or I may have to kill you."

"Is that what you want? For me to leave and never see you again?'

"No, but if I have to choose between watching you die again and knowing that you are living out your days somewhere else, I do not think there is a choice in that." Seeing Jordan's anger, he persisted, "The Legion has fought its way through the desert, through drought and superior forces, and it has always found a way. We may be focused on the dam right now, but when we finally set our sights towards the coast again, we will have a plan in place. We will not fail Caesar's vision."

Jordan shook her head. "No, I'm seeing this through. I've finally found something worth fighting for – dying, even. So I'll make my stand and embrace what comes."

It would take more time and more arguments for Vulpes to come around, she knew that much. Sensing the conversation was over, she removed herself from the fireside. The man was brilliant, but he was too focused on the current phase of the war with the NCR to fully realize the exact nature of the shit he was in. She wouldn't stop working on him until he did, though.

* * *

 _A/N: O.O Some serious debating going on here. I can't wait to share the next chapter with you, though. Shit really starts to hit the fan and it's going to be_ great.


	21. October 8-9, 2281

_A/N: Got a nice little **lemony** snack in this chapter ;) Also, I know I changed the layout of the room. Go with it. XD_

* * *

Burn me up, take me down  
Take my love and blow it out  
Keep the ashes from my heart and walk away  
Pull me into your fire, wanna hold you tonight  
I'll slow dance with the devil  
\- Parson James, "Slow Dance with the Devil"

"That's Stepanic. He's a comm officer, but he runs the place when Beaumont is out on a mission."

Vulpes glanced at the redhead beside him before returning to his binoculars. "Your willingness to share information about these profligates is cause for concern."

"It's business as usual for you, right? I'm sure you already had plans on the books for them." Jordan picked at her nails. She had convinced him to continue in her company once they had reached Novac and they were now hidden on a ledge high above Ranger Station Charlie.

"But why share information, knowing that you are further securing their deaths?" Vulpes eyed her once more. She sat leaning against a small boulder beside him and in the afternoon heat he could see a lone drop of sweat making its way down her neck, sliding through the angles of her collarbone, and heading towards her chest. His mind drifted momentarily to the curves of her breasts that the enviable little drop would be tracing.

She shrugged. "For one, you don't _have_ to kill them. And two, once the NCR finds out what I'm up to, they will start causing problems for me. I travel through here quite often, so it's a strategic move on my part."

Vulpes wasn't sure what was more attractive – her ruthlessness or her pragmatism. He'd have to examine that issue later, however. Enough time have been lost surveilling the outpost and now he would not make it to Cottonwood Cove by nightfall. A stay in the Legion safehouse was in order for the night; he could finish his journey the following day.

Inching back from the ledge, he dusted himself off. Most of the ground was still sodden from the previous day's rain, but the shallow soil of the rocky ledge had already dried. Extending his hand to help Jordan to her feet, Vulpes nearly caused her to trip from the force of his pull.

"Damn," she said with mirth.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he headed south.

/

"Finally tired of the turtleneck?" Jordan asked from her perch on the table.

Vulpes pulled the shirt off over his head and did not fail to notice the appreciative look on her face. "I always change before entering Legion territory. It prevents an attack from an inexperienced recruit."

She nodded. "Makes sense."

Hopping off the table, she sauntered to a row of nearby lockers. Whoever had lived at the ranch last hadn't left much in the way of loot. Such places always frustrated Jordan a little bit, but she was relieved when she opened the last door. A weathered, faded copy of Ernest Hemingway's _The Old Man and the Sea_ sat forgotten. She grinned in silent victory. It was a book she didn't already have.

"Where are you headed?" Vulpes asked. He hadn't bothered to inquire about her travel plans the day before, but now found himself curious.

"I don't know," she admitted and slammed the locker door shut before returning to the table. "Heard a rumor about a Tesla cannon nearby. Might go check that out."

He stole a brief glance. "You left without having a plan?"

"Cabin fever will do that to you."

He could agree to the truth in that. As a member of the Frumentarii he was never in one place for very long. How some Legionaries stayed at the Fort for months on end was beyond him.

Reaching for the outer layers of his Legion armor, he caught Jordan's eyes raking their way across his body. It was almost lewd, the way she looked at him. If it had been anyone else, he imagined he would have reprimanded them.

 _Oh, you could give her a tongue-lashing, all right,_ his mind goaded.

Realizing that she had been caught, she threw him a wink. "I'll be outside."

/

Jordan's knuckles grazed against his and Vulpes wasn't sure how much more he could take. She had been pushing his buttons since they left Wolfhorn Ranch and in the hour they had been walking, he had discovered he had a lot of buttons. They were only a few minutes from the safe house and he was certain that if she followed him inside, his self-control was going to fall apart.

As they climbed the hill, a humble cottage came into view, its once bright yellow exterior nestled back against a stone wall. Vulpes could tell from the fire pit out front that Atticus was not there and no one else likely was either. Whether that was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

He knew he should not sleep with Jordan again. He was still upset with her betrayal and the day it came out that she was no friend of the Legion, there would be a bounty on her head, himself being the one forced to put it there in all likelihood. He also hadn't been using her as any decent spy would, instead returning to her over and over for his own selfish purposes and forsaking the very notion of gathering intelligence on her. His father would have said it was "very _Romeo and Juliet_ ," what they were doing. Vulpes had always hated that play. _Macbeth_ was far superior.

Jordan strolled into the safehouse behind him, taking in the starkness of its main room. Just a bed, a couch, a small table, and a Legion banner. Before she could take in the room's finer details, however, Vulpes had slammed the door shut and shoved her into the wall. The force with which she landed almost took her breath away. Preventing her from turning to face him, he pressed her hands to the worn plaster beneath his own. She was almost certain that he would notice the pounding of her heart when she felt the tip of his nose glide up the column of her throat.

His voice was like a purr as he slid a hand around her abdomen. "You have been weakening my resolve since we left our last stop."

It was only a quick flick of his wrist and her belt was undone, his hand dipping below the waist of her pants. Jordan sucked in a sharp breath when his agile fingers found what they had been searching for. She allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder and when his breath ghosted the rim of her ear, she let go. He was whispering something to her then, but she couldn't focus long enough to understand.

Wanting to return the favor, Jordan's free hand found his thigh behind her. With some inching, she snaked her way under the groin protector of his armor and began to fondle him through the fabric of his tunica. The hiss and subsequent groan told her he was appreciative of her efforts.

It wasn't long before Vulpes removed her hand and turned her around to face him. Without waiting, he began to undo the laces and straps of her armor, working it off of her as he dragged her towards the bed. Jordan responded in kind, tossing his gear aside carelessly as she went.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, fingers running over scars and curves when she at last stood nude before him. His smile was soft when a blush crept into her cheeks. He knew it was not something she heard often, if ever, despite the undeniable nature of its truth.

Not knowing what to say, Jordan alighted on the edge of the bed and drew him closer. She took a moment to study him from where she sat and sighed in contentment. Seeing his naked flesh was always like a religious experience for her. She was certain salvation could be found in the shadows of his muscles.

Vulpes's body shook with a gasp when her mouth enveloped him, hands sliding up his thighs and resting on his hips. The push and pull of her warm cavern overtook him and with every stroke and swirl of her tongue, he felt himself being dragged under waves of euphoria. Grasping her shoulders and hair to steady himself, a pant escaped him as Jordan moved one hand onto the planes of his abdomen and another began to massage him below. He was completely at her mercy, his body offering no defenses against the commands of her warm flesh. He had to find a way to make it end before it came to a crushing halt on its own.

"S-s-stop," he said. She pulled away at once, concern flooding her expression. It was a reasonable reaction. He had never asked anyone to stop.

Collecting his breath once more, Vulpes pressed her towards the mattress, signaling for her to scoot back. When he had pinned her to the sheets, Jordan brushed her fingers over the contours of his face. Eyes hooded and brimming with emotion, she whispered, "I love you." Catching the brief torment that pulsed through his eyes, she added, "Never stopped."

Vulpes captured her lips with the fervor of a starved man.

/

Boone had caught sight of her loitering around outside of Wolfhorn Ranch. When she left with a Legionary minutes later, he had been unable to take the shot – the wind was all wrong and the distance was too great. The odds of shooting Jordan instead of the bastard in the dog hat were too great. They'd kept a quick pace as they headed south, and he, not wanting to reveal himself yet, hung back.

He was almost glad he hadn't rushed into things when they entered what appeared to be a safe house. He could turn the location over to some buddies still active in the NCR and they would make sure it was never of any use to those worthless shitheads again. He felt his apprehension rise, however, when Dog Hat slammed the door of the cottage shut behind him. Jordan had to be with the son of a bitch against her will. There was no way she would follow a Legion officer around if she had a say in the matter.

Moving to a more advantageous spot, Boone found himself on a rocky outcropping a few hills over from the front of the little house. From there he could see without being seen. Stretching himself out across the warm earth, he set his rifle into position and lowered his eye to the scope.

The curtains of the structure's only window were half open and to his horror, Boone could see the Courier being raped. Rocking forward on her elbows and knees, copper waves spilled out across the mattress and her hands fisted the sheets. It was a position she had outright refused to do with him when they were sleeping together, saying she would not submit to a man like that. Attempting to line up his shot, Boone swore under his breath when he realized that most of the Legionary was obscured by the curtain. So he waited and begged himself not to watch, tears stinging in his eyes and the wood of his rifle straining under his grip.

When he checked his scope a second time, he found that Dog Hat had changed their arrangement. Jordan now straddled his lap, his muscular arms snaking around her, holding her upright. Again the man's head was hidden by the curtain and Boone could not take the shot. If he did, he ran the risk of hitting Jordan or just missing altogether and escalating the situation. He ignored the ache spreading through his jaw while the nightmare continued to unfold.

Lip reading was something one learned to do as a sniper. Being able to understand what was being said was often helpful, not only in intelligence gathering, but in taking the shot at the right time. It was a skill Boone wished he did not have in that moment as horror turned to confusion. Through the lens of his scope, he watched as Jordan threw her head back, no doubt reaching her orgasm, and three little words tumbled from her lips.

Anger and doubt began to cloud his mind. It had to have been some kind of syndrome – that kind that hostages got when they spent too long with their captor. _No, no._ For all he knew, she had only been with the Legionary the one day. That wasn't long enough for anything, was it? But why would she say those words? Maybe he had misread them.

Not realizing that time had passed, he was jarred from his thoughts when the man came into view. Before Boone could squeeze the trigger, the curtains swayed shut.

/

Dawn had crept into the Mojave and cast its pale glow over the safe house. Jordan was already up and dressed, rummaging through a corner of the basement in search of food. A container of flour and a box of Dandy Boy Apples sat forgotten behind a group of barrels and crates. That would work fine.

"What are you doing?" Vulpes stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded across his chest, wearing nothing but his boxers and a questioning look.

From her place at the bottom step, Jordan held out her spoils. "Breakfast."

"You should not have gone down there."

"Don't worry. I didn't go through your shit," she said with a scoff and a laugh as she passed. Pausing at the front door, she added, "Get dressed and come outside."

Whoever tended the safe house had kept the firewood inside, away from the elements and roving thieves. Jordan appreciated the forethought as she built and tended a small fire with ease. Most people in the wastes just left their wood outside and then wondered why it was stolen or why it wouldn't burn. She was reaching for the battered cooking pan at her side when movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Boone stood across the distance from her, rising out of the shadows of the landscape. Jordan's hand froze in its pursuit and she got up from the fire in haste, startled by his presence. He needed to leave before he found out who else was there.

"What are you doing here?" she breathed.

"I could ask you the same thing."

She could hear the venom in his voice and observed a difference in his gait. There was something threatening around the edges of his usually casual stroll. "I'm looking for that Tesla cannon we heard about a while back."

"In a Legion safe house?"

She felt her adrenaline kick up a notch. "Is that what this is?"

"You know damn well it is," he snapped. "And I don't think the kind of cannon you're looking for is going to be between the legs of a Legion officer."

Jordan was confident that the color was draining out of her face in record time. Shit was about to go sideways in a most violent fashion. "Boone…"

He took another step forward, leaving only a few yards between them. "Are you here against your will or are you just a red skirt's whore now?"

She registered the almost imperceptible jerk of his head and turned to see Vulpes, fully clad in his uniform, standing in the doorway of the house. "Fuck," she muttered and berated herself for how cliché her next words were. "It's not what you think."

"Now what I think?" Boone barked out with a laugh. "You fucked him and told him you love him. Exactly _what_ am I supposed to think?"

Jordan shuddered in disgust on the inside, but stood her ground, fury beginning to boil up inside of her. Since when did he have the right to be upset about her love life? He had never had any claim on her heart. Hearing a boot crunch in the dirt, she held out a hand behind her, begging Vulpes to stay where he was. "You need to leave, Boone."

His face was tinged with pink and a vein began to protrude from his neck, adding to the aura of a man who was not quite keeping it together. "I just want to know why!"

The sharp rise in the volume of his voice had come close to drawing a wince from her. "Why what?"

"Why was I never good enough?" he shouted. "I was by your side for months, crawling all over this godforsaken desert for you! I healed you, I fed you, I got you off! I gave everything I had and all of it to a lying slut!"

 _A lying slut?_ It wasn't the first time in her life she had been called that or worse, so she ignored his attempt at getting under her skin. Her rebellious streak, though, that part of her that became indignant when pushed too far, pleaded for her to laugh at him and tell him to do better. Yet she knew that mocking someone who was becoming more and more unhinged was in poor taste and altogether unwise.

"I was never yours!" she yelled. "I never belonged to you, Boone!"

"Oh, is that it? You've sold yourself into slavery like a goddamn idiot?"

Jordan visualized a well-placed throat punch and pinched the bridge of her nose. Behind her, Vulpes shifted on his feet. He was growing bored with the clusterfuck of emotional baggage spilling out of the sniper before him.

"I am _not_ his slave," she spat.

"Then why?" Boone's knuckles were turning white and his voice echoed through the desert. "Why would you turn your back on me, on everyone, for that Legion piece of shit?"

"Because he's my husband, you ass!" Jordan roared back, chest heaving in frustration. She could deal with people attacking her all day long, but her former companion's insulting of Vulpes was a step too far.

Boone launched himself at her with a guttural cry, knocking her from her feet and pinning her to the ground. Throwing her leg over his head, Jordan moved to hold his arm, but her grip slipped. At her mistake, he shifted to straddle her, and, grabbing her by her shirt, lifted her upper body to slam her into the hard-packed earth. Feeling the air evacuate her lungs, she found herself powerless to stop the blows he began to rain down on her.

In his shock at seeing Jordan bested, Boone had struck her three times before Vulpes could move to tackle him. As he worked to gain the upper hand and restrain the sniper, Jordan lay wide-eyed and gasping for air behind them, instinctual panic washing through her while her lungs burned. It had been years since she had had the wind knocked from her.

When Vulpes had subdued Boone to his satisfaction, he made a point to return the punches that the man had dished out to Jordan moments earlier. Jerking the Ripper free from his belt a moment, he changed the nature of his assault and pressed its teeth to the man's throat, daring him to fight back.

Boone's motions stilled when he felt the instrument against his soft and fragile flesh. Hovering over him were the unnerving eyes of the Legionary, a primeval frenzy obscuring the electric blue and giving Boone the distinct feeling of prey being caught in a trap. He could almost make out the beasts moving in the darkness of the Frumentarius's eyes, waiting for the right moment to come out of the shadows.

"Stop!" Jordan croaked. Neither man removed his stare from the other. "Let him go."

Vulpes sneered at the sniper and pushed himself to his feet, never allowing his gaze to leave him. Taking several measured steps back, he watched as Boone rose, picking up his beret as he went. The sniper's focus slid to Jordan and back to his attacker before he turned and left.

Continuing to monitor Boone's departure, Vulpes moved to help Jordan stand. "That was a mistake."

"I know." Her voice was full of gravel and her breathing still ragged. "But he is – was – my friend and I don't want to watch him die."

Noting that the retired soldier wasn't slowing his pace or glancing over his shoulder, Vulpes at last took in Jordan's appearance. Her cheek and lip were already beginning to show faint signs of swelling and her nose was bleeding.

"I thought you had it," he said by way of apology. Untying a strip of cloth from his arm, he began to clean away the blood pooling on her upper lip. "Come to the Fort with me."

"You know I won't do that."

"Damn it, Jordan. Now is not the time for recklessness. Your 'friend' is going to go back to Vegas or McCarran or Golf and spill everything he knows. Are you prepared for that?"

"He doesn't know much –"

"Then he will fill in the blanks!"

"- and I don't need your protection."

Vulpes stared at her and sighed. She was right. He had not been there to watch her back in ten years and she had more than managed. She was also acutely aware of the kind of fight she was setting herself up for and she wasn't flinching.

Cupping the side of her face, his thumb traced the curve of her cheek. "So I am still your husband?"

* * *

 _A/N: I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on this! XD_


	22. October 9, 2281

Don't take your eyes off the trigger  
I'm not to blame if your world turns to black  
As your eyes start to blister  
There's just no hope for our final embrace  
\- Bullet For My Valentine, "Your Betrayal"

Vulpes's feet carried him up the well-worn path to Caesar's tent. He had been summoned as soon as he stepped off the raft from Cottonwood Cove and as a result, still carried his pack, knowing better than to keep the imperator waiting. In spite of the invocation, and knowing that his world was balancing on the edge of a precipice, he was in an uncommonly delightful mood. He was even considering foregoing slave crucifixions for the week.

Making his way into the compound, he noticed that his Lord appeared to be more pensive than usual. Leaning to the side of his throne, the man's brow was furrowed and his chin sat heavy in his hand. Before Vulpes had the opportunity to go through the motions of kneeling and saluting, however, Caesar caught sight of him.

"Ah, Vulpes! I have a mission of the utmost importance for you."

Rising, he motioned for the Frumentarius to follow him. On a nearby table, maps and reports lay spread out in disarray. "I need you to assassinate Joshua Graham. I know we have sent others to do the job in the past, but some reports have come back from our White Legs ambassadors that he has been causing problems. Seeing as we are short on time and the Courier has been slow to return to us, I want you to see to it personally. Do you have any questions?"

Vulpes felt his mood collapse. Jordan had in all likelihood had a hand in the "problems" Graham had caused. Though they had yet to discuss her time in Zion in any real detail, he had a sneaking suspicion that his trip would be pointless. If she had erased the White Legs from existence, or at least dealt serious damage to their main force, then Graham would be a non-factor in their absence.

"Do I have your permission to act as I see fit, my Lord?"

"Absolutely." Caesar gave him a hard clap on the shoulder. "Leave as soon as possible."

Vulpes nodded and turned to leave. There would be copies of the reports waiting for him in his tent. He could pack and spend his evening going over them at Cottonwood Cove before beginning his journey in the morning. Barring any difficulties, he would reach Zion within a week, week and a half at the most. As his thoughts turned to the items he would need take with him, he heard Caesar call to him again. Turning, he saw the ageing man flash a wry smile.

"Send him my regards, would you?"

/

Felina watched in silence as Vulpes left, never having spared her a glance. Sliding through the flaps at the back of her Lord's sleeping quarters, she made her way to the spy's tent. Pausing for a moment outside the doorway, she took a calming breath. There was no doubt that she was overstepping a slave's boundaries, but she had to see him. His presence at the Fort had been scarce since that night with Courier, and when he was there, Felina was attending to Caesar's needs.

Slipping inside, she found Vulpes hunched over the side of his bed, repacking his rucksack with a practiced ease.

"You're leaving?" she blurted, her amber eyes wide in surprised disappointment. From where she had been in headquarters, she had been unable to hear his conversation with Caesar.

The Frumentarius froze in place, the muscles of his back and arms tensing. "Yes, though I fail to see how that is any of _your_ business."

"I-I'm sorry, my Lord." Felina's heart began to race as she crossed the space between them and settled her slender hands on the laces of his armor. She had missed his touch and more than that, she worried about her status in the absence of his desires. "How may I atone?" she whispered.

Vulpes whirled around, his backhand sending her tumbling into the packed dirt. She felt a scream trying to crawl its way out of her throat when he advanced on her, crouching over her and pinning her in place.

"Need I remind you that you are a _slave_? You do not touch and you do not speak unless spoken to. Failure to follow those principles will not result in sexual favors, but rather, your _unending_ misery." He gave her a rough shove and extricated himself. "You would do well to remember your place."

Tears sprung from her eyes as he turned to gather the reports from his desk. Felina now knew she no longer held any sway with the Legion's third in command. What was she going to do? How was she going to keep her place of comfort?

Vulpes made a failed attempt at ignoring the girl's quiet crying. When it became clear that she intended to continue sobbing on his floor, he snapped, "Leave."

Felina scrambled from the tent, tripping over the rough fabric of her slave's rags as she went. She could only pray to the gods that Inculta would not tell Caesar of her indiscretion.

/

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Jordan sat huddled against an exposed rock face, wondering if her decision to pursue the Tesla cannon had been a smart one. She had found the crashed vertibird from the rumors, but what everyone had failed to mention was the small army of sentrybots and Mister Gutsys guarding it.

Realizing that the barrage of lasers and plasma rounds had stopped, she held her breath, opened her eyes wide, and listened. They were retreating back up the hill, the intruder seemingly forgotten. Using their lapse in programming to her advantage, Jordan clambered through her rucksack. Her hands skimmed over water bottles, ammo packs, and other miscellaneous items as she felt her way through it. _I really need to reorganize this shit,_ she thought in a huff.

"Yes! Thank fuck!" she whispered when her fingers skimmed the barrel of her pulse gun. She wasn't much for stealing, but she thanked the stars that she had lifted that crate key from Miss Pearl all those months ago. The little beauty of a pistol had been a lifesaver.

Taking a quick look around, Jordan tucked her pack against the stone, not wanting its jostling to cause any issues. There were no sentient humans or ghouls in the visible area and she was confident it would still be there in a few minutes time. Gathering her wits, Jordan swung out from behind the rock face and advanced up the hill. One shot for a Mister Gutsy and two for a sentrybot. Even with the pistol wobbling in her hands from its considerable expulsion of energy, it did not take long to clear the site.

It was then, after the last robot lay in an electrocuted heap, that she spotted her prize. In her excitement, she kissed the barrel of her gun. "You're fucking brilliant," she beamed.

After retrieving her bag, she took off down into the cut. That wasn't just any cannon laying down there. That was the Tesla-Beaton prototype. Veronica was going to squeal when she hauled it home.

/

Felina's slender body shook with silent grief as she curled against a wall of crates in Siri's tent. It was the one place at Fortification Hill that a slave, having been cast out by their master, could seek solace. The Legionaries knew this, of course, but seldom cared enough to drag them out for discipline.

Digging her fingers into the rough wooden container, Felina's mind raced. She had to find a way back. Inculta was her only hope of a safe and prestigious future in the Legion. Caesar was infertile, she was almost sure of it. She had been sleeping with him for two years and had not even had so much as a hiccup in her cycles. He was also dying. In either case, she would be passed off to another Legionary for use and it would like as not be the Legate. She could not allow that to happen. Finding a way to force the Fox into marriage or ownership was her only way out.

A thought struck her as she picked at a loose sliver of wood. Why would Inculta reject her at all? And with such vehemence? She thought he enjoyed her more than he did any other slave.

 _You're not the Courier_ , a little voice whispered in her mind.

What would that hideous wretch have to do with anything? Inculta was unrivaled in the history of the Legion. He was going to use that woman up and once she was bound in the Bull's chains, he would cast her aside like foricae refuse. It was going to be an absolute delight to watch that profligate shatter.

 _Oh, but you know he won't. You saw the way he looked at the Courier. The way he touched her. It is you that is the refuse._

Felina shook the thoughts away. No, her Fox was a master Frumentarius. He treated the Courier like he did because he was acting, working his way past her defenses, not because-

From the other side of the crates, two voices drifted over. One the slave did not recognize, but the other she did. It was the recruit with flaxen curls that she had seen leaving Inculta's tent a few times after the purification of Nipton.

The man she was most unfamiliar with spoke first, however, and Felina strained to listen.

"You are lucky, Crispus," he laughed. "Vulpes Inculta oversaw that part of my training."

"That sounds awful."

"It was!" Another laugh. "Can you imagine having the Fox drug you without warning? I nearly pissed myself when I woke up in the carcer the first time!"

"I heard the others say that Gabban is not as harsh. Is that true?"

"It is, but that doesn't mean he's easy." The sounds of forks scraping against metal plates hindered his answer for a moment. "He doesn't use as much Mother Darkness as Inculta, but the results are still the same."

"Great," Crispus said with a hint of dejection.

"Chin up, recruit. You've got to survive it if you want to stay in the Frumentarii."

Several minutes of silence passed before Felina heard the sound of the table being cleared. Peeking out from her hiding spot, she found that only Siri remained in the tent. Taking care to remain hidden, she moved to stand at the end of the crates where she could be better heard.

"Siri, what is Mother Darkness?"

Still cleaning the table, the slave replied without looking. "It's a neurotoxin that the Frumentarii use in their training. By gradually subjecting themselves to it, they are better able to function if poisoned on the job."

"What does it do?"

Siri moved to a nearby burn barrel, scraping the leftover trash into the fire. "Temporary paralysis, numbness, hallucinations. It also affects their perception," she said before turning away to carry on with her work.

An idea began to form in Felina's mind and she smiled. She knew how to get the Fox back - and make sure the Courier knew her place.

/

The back of Boone's hand wiped across his brow. He had hauled ass after leaving Jordan and her Legionary and was nearing the 188 Trading Post. He could stop for water, get some food, and check the condition of his feet there.

As the site's bridges came into view, he considered his options. He could meet with Chief Hanlon at Camp Golf. The man had command of every soldier and Ranger in the Mojave and with enough persuading, Boone was confident that he could convince him to send troops after Jordan. Having traveled with her for months, though, he knew she would either make quick work of her enemies, or go so deep into hiding that people would begin to question whether she ever existed at all.

No, he would need to tell Ambassador Crocker. Politicians had power that reached further and higher than even the best of the NCR's soldiers. The dignitary could have everyone on the Strip and in Wasteland settlements turn against her. He could have news of her treachery spread through Mr. New Vegas and might even be able to have the securitrons hacked. Crocker had Kimball's ear, and with influence like that the entirety of the Republic's might could be brought down on the Courier. They might even put her in front of a firing squad if Boone was lucky.

 _Fucking traitor_.

She must have been fucking mental to claim that bastard was her husband. Any scum in a red skirt would have been insulting, but it was Vulpes Fucking Inculta, third in command of the entire Legion, head of the Frumentarii, and the face plastered all over the Mojave. Boone didn't know what kind of hoodoo that piece of shit was working, but Jordan sure as hell wasn't his wife. She wasn't anyone's wife. She couldn't even accept certain sex acts because it meant putting herself in a vulnerable position with a man. And she sure as hell never shared anything about herself. He wondered why he ever bothered with her at all.

Maybe the "he's my husband" bullshit was the result of _her_ being hopped up on chems for once. Maybe she was just damned fool. Either way, she stood against the NCR now.

Which meant she stood against him.

The Courier had to die.

* * *

A/N: Ooo shit.


	23. October 17-18, 2281

Ariel, there was a fire in your house, they say  
And now your bedroom is all up in flames  
There was a fire in your house, they say  
They say you've been dancing with the devil  
\- Stateless, "Ariel"

"That should do it," Vulpes murmured to himself. It would not take long for the iguana to finish roasting and even less time for him to devour the whole of it. He sighed. It had only been a week and already he had grown tired of eating the same catalogue of tiny creatures over and over. Perhaps his time in New Vegas had softened him.

He shook the thought from his mind. It would not do to dwell on such things when there were more interesting issues to ponder. Felina, for one, had behaved in a most peculiar way before he had left the Fort. It was not common knowledge, but he did have spies in place among the slaves and he had heard nothing in regards to Caesar's pet. The lack of murmurs led him to believe that she had developed some manner of foolish feelings towards him. That would not do. He would speak with his imperator about having her reconditioned or sent back to Flagstaff when he returned from his mission.

His thoughts then turned to Jordan. She had given the location of an intact Auto-Doc to Vulpes before she had left the safehouse. Though the gesture had seemed odd to him at the time, he had realized its magnitude as he passed the information to Lucius. By saving Caesar's life, she removed a myriad of distractions from Vulpes's playing field and provided him with time to give her offer a more proper consideration. In the simplest of terms, she strengthened her opponent in order to weaken them. Her shrewdness was a work of art.

He considered the time spent at the safehouse more intently. It was possible that the NCR dog would have ruined Jordan's plans by the time Vulpes returned to the Mojave. The man been bitter and blinded by rage, physically attacking her when she'd spouted the truth and glaring at him with a self-destructing hate the Frumentarius had seen plenty of times before. As the sniper left, Vulpes had dragged Jordan back inside and taken her against the front door. When she met her release, he made sure that she had been loud enough for that bastard to hear her echo off the hills and canyon walls. Was that base, juvenile, territorial? Yes, without a doubt. Most days the Fox prided himself on being above such dishonorable antics, but in that instant he had wanted to grind down the sniper's spirit a little more, destroying any hope the man had for _his_ wife.

Wife.

Her declaration had left him at once reeling and in utter elation. Vulpes had assumed that their brief window of wedded bliss all those years ago in Utah would have been null and void, no longer of any worth in the face of presumed death. Yet he had been wrong. Jordan's assertion, shouted with furious passion, told him she still felt they belonged to each other. After roads traveled and atrocities committed, she still wanted him to be a part of who she was, still wanted him in her future. It was glorious and baffling.

When he had lost himself in her minutes later, she saw through his base motivation, but had not held it against him. Instead, she had been accommodating, digging her nails in deeper when called her by title rather than name. He wondered just what he would have to do to earn her condemnation.

Vulpes reached for his dinner, the aroma making his stomach uncomfortable with want. Paltry lizard in hand, he speculated that even if he declined her offer and remained loyal to Caesar, she would not hate him. She would doubtless be disappointed in his decision, but not in him. If he were to admit it, that was the safest route for either of them, especially since she was adamant she would not leave. No one in the Legion knew of their affair, or their history, so no fingers could be pointed. She would remain the Courier, Messiah of the Profligate Wasteland, and he would remain as the untarnished Vulpes Inculta, greatest of the Frumentarii. He would have to avoid her for the remainder of the war, but knowing she was alive and well would have to be enough.

Their sex life would be painfully missed, though. It was almost a given that if they found themselves alone and sheltered, they would spend time chasing bliss together. Every time he saw her it was a ubiquitous struggle to keep his hands to himself. Though he knew there was a strong possibility that it was nothing more than the newness of their rekindled relationship, it did make him question if they were making up for lost time.

But what if he said yes to her offer?

He knew it was unwise to entertain the idea, but he had little else to do and always found such mental exercises to be refreshing. Vulpes could see the path falling into place before him. He would agree to switch sides and would inform her of every fortification, outpost, plan, and troop movement he had knowledge of. He would, of course, have to maintain the ruse of being loyal to the Legion and would spend an adequate amount of time at the Fort to fulfill his duties. In time, the Second Battle of Hoover Dam would come and he imagined, almost romantically, the two of them confronting Caesar together. In reality, however, he would like as not face his commander alone while Jordan cut a bloody trail through soldiers and Legionaries alike, liberating terrified slaves as she went.

If they were successful, he would spend the rest of his years helping her build an empire, fashioning it into whatever her Twenty Year Plan demanded. He was curious about whether she would want to bear his children or if she would prefer the Mojave to be her sole legacy. Vulpes imagined that their offspring would be outrageous little devils, stirring up trouble with their devious wit. The thought made him smile. They had been troublemakers in their youth. It was only fitting.

If they failed, however, death was certain. Scourging and crucifixion were in the cards for Jordan, along with a strong expectation of rape. Several fates were possible for himself. He could wind up in a collar, slaving away in the foricae if Caesar wanted to humiliate him. To further Jordan's suffering, he might end up with his head on a pike, his dead eyes staring at her as she withered away on a cross. The most plausible scenario, though, was that he would be hanged, drawn, and quartered. It was a punishment reserved for Legion traitors and failures that had been enacted once rumors of the Burned Man began to surface. Caesar didn't want to take the chance of someone else returning from the dead, and what better way to do that than torturing the life out of them before hanging their body _parts_ in various locations.

He sighed. Such thoughts were too heavy for such a light meal.

/

"Is it true?"

Jordan rubbed the bridge of her nose and winced as she sat the Tesla cannon down with a thud. The pain served as a glaring reminder that Cass had never been one for nonviolent questioning. That she could hear the heartbreak in Veronica's voice tugged at her, too. Coming home did not mean an end to the day it seemed.

"What?" With nothing more than a glance she enveloped Cass's fist in her hand, preventing it from landing another strike. She'd been caught off-guard once when exiting the elevator, but she would not allow her friend to assault her again.

Arcade shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. Not knowing what else to say, he clarified, "The rumors."

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," Jordan quipped. She knew what they were asking, but she had never been one to show her cards too soon.

Again Cass swung for her and she dodged out of the way, using the woman's momentum to slam her into the elevator doors, and twisting her arm up and behind her along the way. Leaning in, Jordan planted her knee on the metal pane between the Cass's legs, barring any attempt at escape.

"Getting real fucking tired of being attacked by friends. Are you going to calm down so I can explain?"

"Fuck you," Cass spat.

With her free hand, Jordan yanked a line of rope from the side of her rucksack. "So be it." It only took a brief minute before Cass's hands were bound behind her and she was deposited into a nearby chair, still grumbling.

With her pack at last removed and the cannon propped against the wall, Jordan slumped against the console table. "First," she said, "tell me what you know."

"We know that you're a Legion whore and-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Cass," Arcade said. "Would you shut up?"

With a tremulous voice, Veronica said, "Boone went to Ambassador Crocker and told him that you were a Legion spy, that you were sleeping with Vulpes Inculta, and carrying out missions for Caesar. He said all the good things you'd done for people were just for show." She fidgeted in place. "Crocker sent troops over here looking for you, so they could interrogate you and 'bring you to justice.'"

"They want your head," Arcade simplified.

"I take it the rest of the Strip does not know?" Jordan had not passed any NCR on her way in, but everyone else seemed as amicable as usual.

"They're keeping it to themselves for now," the doctor said. "Probably out of embarrassment."

"Good," Jordan nodded. "And what do you think?"

Arcade adjusted his glasses. "We want to trust you, but those are very serious allegations."

"They are, yes." Jordan allowed a sigh to leave her. Across from her, Veronica stood anxiously wringing her hands and waiting for her friend to put her at ease. "There is some truth to what Boone said, but it's mostly false."

"Then why would he say it?" Cass bit out.

"Because he wants revenge. He wants to hurt me worse than he feels I have hurt him. Yes, 'Mr. Fox' is Vulpes Inculta, and yes, we are sleeping together. But I am _not_ a Legion spy and I am _not_ working for Caesar any more than it suits my own purposes."

"But if you know who he is, then why are you sleeping with him?" Veronica asked. The reason for her distress was twofold. Not only had her friend been dancing with the devil, but she had been sincerely fond of Fox. He was witty and intelligent, and listened when no one else would. It now looked as though it had all been a lie.

Jordan would have almost shot someone for a glass of whiskey then. It had been a long few days and she wanted nothing more than to relax. Instead of coming straight back to New Vegas, she had deviated to Raul's shack, hoping that any tensions Boone might cause at the NCR Embassy would cool off a bit before she returned. One of her nights there, the ghoul had woken her from a nightmare, claiming he had almost shot her for all the noise she had made.

It had not been the same terror as she had grown accustomed to over the years. Instead, she had been forced to watch, powerless, while Vulpes was crucified and disemboweled before her. When Raul had forced her to explain herself, she had asked, "Have you ever loved someone you knew you shouldn't?" His response had been a swift slap across the back of her head and a gruff, "Have you never listened to a single thing I've said, mija?"

Now back at the Lucky 38 with a tired mind and a tender nose, Jordan took a deep breath. "I'm from southern Utah. My village was founded by vault dwellers on the banks of a river. My mother had been a nuclear physicist and my father a security technician before they left the vault. We lived next to the Everett family – Mary, Dean, and Shelby."

"This is all well and good," Arcade cut in, "but is there a point to this history lesson?"

"There is," Jordan nodded. "Just before I turned eighteen, I married Shelby. He was kind, and funny, and mischievous. We would sneak onto the roof of the community barn at night and stare at the stars while getting tipsy on wine."

"Gag," Cass said. She had never cared for romance.

Jordan gave her friend a hard stare for a moment before continuing. "We'd been married for five months when the Legion came. Our fathers were executed in front of him while I was chased into the cellar of our house. I didn't know it then, but when the one chasing me grabbed for the doors, Shelby tried to trade his life for mine. They accepted his offer of loyalty and then set our house on fire." She heard Veronica sniffle, but carried on. "I waited as long as I could and when I crawled out, I was alone. The only body I could find was my Dad's. Shelby, our mothers, his sister - they were all missing."

Cass rolled her head to the side in boredom. "And?"

"Vulpes Inculta is Shelby Everett."

Veronica and Arcade gasped while Cass sat in quiet shock, a feeling of guilt setting in. She could be such an asshole sometimes.

"I saw him in Nipton and at the Fort, but I never recognized him. Then he found me in The Tops a few months ago. I've been trying to convince him to defect to our side, to aid us in our fight."

"Why?" Cass asked.

"Because the man is a damn genius and she's still in love with him," Arcade observed. It was evident now and everything made sense – her previously closed-off nature, the lack of commitment to lovers, and where her intelligence had come from. Her parents had made sure she was well-educated. It also confirmed his suspicions that Fox was not a businessman. "How does Boone play into this, I wonder?"

"He tracked us to a Legion safehouse and saw us in a rather…intimate moment. Confronted us the next morning and attacked me when I defended Vulpes, who, in turn, attacked him in my defense. He was going to kill Boone until I asked him to stop. Boone left right after."

"He came here looking for you," Cass said in quiet tones.

"When?"

"Before. Didn't seem right, though."

Jordan leaned forward. "How?"

"He was talking fast and acting weird." Cass scrunched her brows together. "Real chatty, too - for him, at least. Asked me if I thought you'd take him back."

"I need a drink." Disappearing into the kitchen, Jordan returned with her coveted glass of whiskey. As she wound her way through her friends, headed towards her bedroom, Arcade spoke up.

"Wait. Two questions." She turned on her heel and peered out at him over the rim of her glass. "One, what happened to your mother?"

Jordan's tongue darted against her lip in thought. "Vulpes said that she, Mary, and his sister Sara committed suicide in a slave pen in Flagstaff."

He nodded. It was an understandable decision. "And two-"

"I heard him call you Rett once," Veronica interrupted. "If Everett is his last name, why is that your nickname?"

"Not my question."

A familiar, easy grin sprung up on Jordan's face. "I followed that boy from the moment I could walk. Spent so much time with his family growing up that they said I was one of them – an honorary Everett. Thus the name."

Veronica beamed. "That is so damn adorable."

Arcade's second question forgotten, Jordan gave a jerk of her head for Veronica to follow her. "Come on, I picked something up that I think you're going to like."

As the pair walked into her bedroom to examine the cannon, Cass shouted from her chair, "Hey! You just gonna leave me tied up?"

"Until I know you're not going to punch me in the face again."

/

Joshua Graham was drained and his shoulder was giving him fits again. Peace in Zion did not mean an absence of trouble and he had spent his afternoon trying to return a Bighorner calf to its herd. Now the hour was late and he only wished to sleep, but knew it would not be possible quite yet.

"If you have come to assassinate me, I believe it will be a meaningless act," he announced to the darkness of his quarters. Showing his intention to do no harm, he removed his pistol and set it on his desk.

"Indeed it would be," a voice responded, its owner stepping into the light.

Joshua eyed the man. He had heard stories of the Legionary standing before him. A man as ruthless and intelligent as he himself had been, who was positioned at the heart of the empire. He would need to tread carefully to survive the night. "Ah, Vulpes Inculta. The favored son."

"Joshua Graham, the Malpais Legate."

The fallen Legionary did not detect any hints of disdain in the younger man's voice. He had merely been stating a fact and mirroring Joshua's words back to him. As he began to remove his body armor, he said, "I suspect that word has not yet reached Edward of the White Legs' defeat." It was more question than statement.

Vulpes gave an easy nod, leaving Joshua unsure of what to make of his comfortable manner. The Frumentarii who had come to kill him in the past had always reminded him of tightly coiled springs of contempt, waiting to pop. It was that blindness and arrogance that had always done them in. "Killing me out of spite then?"

The spy strolled over, his features becoming less sharp in the torchlight. Without any grand gesture, Vulpes removed his Ripper and laid it beside Joshua's pistol, as though it was the most normal thing he could have done. "I have no desire to kill you at all. In fact, I intend to leave here tomorrow morning and return to New Vegas, your body and mind still intact."

"That is a very long walk for a social call then."

Vulpes shook his head. "Unfortunately, this is not a social visit either. I have come to seek your advice."

Joshua was stunned. It was a most unexpected turn and he could formulate no reason for it. "I don't understand."

"You will." Leaving his elder to his shock, Vulpes moved to sit on a nearby crate, his thoughts beginning to furrow the lines of his brow. "I have found myself at a crossroads and am unsure of how to proceed."

"Why come all this way for guidance?" Joshua asked, moving to sit next to him. "Surely another officer could have helped you."

"Make no mistake," Vulpes said, "Caesar did sent me to kill you, but I secured his permission to act as I saw fit. I suspected the White Legs would be a non-factor before I ever left the Fort."

"What would make you assume such a thing?"

"Jordan. I know she was here."

Joshua was certain that Vulpes could see the surprise under his bandages once again. Perhaps the young woman had done some work for the Legion? No, her heart was too kind. "How do you know the Courier?"

The younger man appeared to almost become nervous for a moment before his professional mask reemerged. "The short version is that she is my long lost bride. We thought each other dead until recently." When the former Legate's eyes widened further, he continued. "She has developed a plan for an independent New Vegas and has asked me to defect."

Joshua hummed in thought. He might one day owe Jordan an apology. "And you are hesitant because of all the time you've spent in the Legion."

"Yes."

"I see why you could not ask anyone else," he said. It also became clear to him why he would obtain Caesar's permission to do as he wished. He was protecting Jordan and shifting culpability onto his commander. "I assume she has argued with you on the matter?"

Vulpes nodded. "Her reasoning appears solid, though I took no delight in hearing it."

Joshua snickered. Jordan had a way of making a man listen, even when he didn't want to. "What has she said?"

He listened intently as Vulpes recalled their debates and thought on it for a moment, imagining Jordan dismantling every counter argument the Frumentarius gave her. He smiled to himself. If he had ever had a daughter, he would have wanted it to be her. "She's right. On all of it."

"I have concluded as much, but I am uncertain of what to do. I have given ten years of my life to the Legion. How does one throw all of that away?"

"You have not given ten years. They have been taken from you," Joshua said with the soft voice of a wise father. Though the Legion had accomplished much, there were many practices he had not been proud of. Lifelong, submit-or-die conscription was one of them. "And you would not be throwing everything away. You would be fighting for something better – something that will give you peace and a greater purpose than the wishes of a vile old man."

Noting the pensive silence coming from the man beside him, it became apparent to Joshua that the young Frumentarius was torn between his sense of duty and the love he still held for his wife. "You cannot serve two masters, Inculta," he added. "It is not possible to be Caesar's loyal slave and love her. You will have to choose one."

Vulpes was quiet, his eyes searching the shadows around him. "If I join her and she fails, we will both be put to death. I could not bear to watch her die again."

Joshua looked to his Bible lying on the table and wondered if the spy had ever read it. "For assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you," he intoned.

"Matthew 17:20."

"So you have read the Good Book," he smiled. If Vulpes was so familiar with the Bible that he could recognize scripture by chapter and verse, Joshua was uncertain it would do him much good to suggest a reading of it. He would already know all of the passages relevant to his situation. There was another book, however, that he kept tucked away and had often found much wisdom in. Retrieving it from his chest, he passed it to the younger man. "I think this may help you, offer you insights on yourself and the path you travel."

Vulpes studied the cover. An ancient face stared back in faded ink with the expression of a man who knew more than the reader and found it amusing. In barely legible typeface, _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu.

"He was a warrior-philosopher from several thousand years ago," Joshua explained. "He believed that conflict was an inevitable part of life, but that everything we need to handle it both honorably and victoriously is already a part of us." As an afterthought, he added, "Jordan is a fan. We had an entire discussion of it over dinner her last evening here."

Vulpes thanked him and pledged to read it. Needing one more opinion, he asked, "If it were you, what would you choose?"

Joshua's back straightened as the thought over the lessons he had learned in his life. He had been in love once, even planned on marrying the girl, but then a mission trip to Arizona happened. "I would choose Jordan. As long as the Legion continues to exist, there will be someone to take your place. It is a machine that can survive without you, but when it falls, it will take you with it. So choose happiness. Choose her."

A moment of silence passed between the two. With Vulpes staring into space, almost lost to his thoughts, Joshua asked one final question of his own. "I am curious. If you were to defect and secure an independent future for New Vegas, what would you do with Jordan?"

The Frumentarius gave a small laugh, understanding the real meat of the question. "No one does anything with Jordan. I think I would just try to keep up."

"Smart man," Joshua chuckled.

* * *

 _A/N: I want to be clear on something - when Vulpes is ruminating over his relationship with Jordan in the first section of this chapter and it says that Jordan "had been accommodating" to him, she wasn't having loud, crazy sex with her husband to rub it into Boone's face, like, "Oh ho, look who's getting to enjoy this instead of you!" Vulpes was the only one gloating in that instance. I don't think Boone would have even been a blip on Jordan's radar when faced with a very lusty, territorial Vulpes having an alpha male moment._

 _See you next weekend ;)_


	24. October 24, 2281

So don't apologize, I hope you choke and die  
Search your cell for something with which to hang yourself  
They say you need to pray if you want to go to heaven  
But they don't tell you what to say when your whole life has gone to hell  
\- Brand New, "Seventy Times Seven" 

If there was one thing Jordan didn't understand about the Lucky 38, it was the absence of a bathroom in the penthouse. She supposed House had not needed one in the end, but it was still an obvious part of any living space. Due to his 200 year old omission, she was riding the elevator down to the Presidential suite to clean up. After spending all day helping King and Julie in Freeside, all she wanted was a hot soak.

Entering the bathroom, she shuffled into the far corner and laid her pajamas on the side table. While the tub began to fill, she retrieved a small bag of salts from the desk by the door. It was something Arcade had given her months ago to combat sore muscles and ease fatigue. It smelled like heaven and not much was required to do the trick.

Padding her way back to the corner area, Jordan pulled the curtain closed behind her. In a few minutes more she was submerged in the salted water, her hair piled up to make a small pillow for her head. With a deep exhale, she closed her eyes and felt the water move around her like warm silk. It was precisely what she needed.

As she lay there, she thought over the last week and all of the strings she had begun to pull. All of Freeside now sat in her corner and Swank had pledged support from The Tops. She had not decided what to do with the Ultra Luxe and its surviving White Gloves yet, but the Gomorrah would be seeing a change in management. Goodsprings had also agreed to back her, but she wasn't positive about Primm with its NCR camp across the highway. She would also need to call on Novac at some point and had plans to visit the Great Khans in a few days' time. So long as everyone kept as quiet as she had asked them, neither the NCR nor the Legion would know of her plans until it was too late.

The water had cooled off but was still quite warm when Jordan shifted her gaze to the torn and faded painting hanging above her. Michael Angelo might have something she could replace it with. Or maybe even one of the traveling merchants. She pondered on the possibilities before turning her attention to how heavy her limbs felt. The bath and salts were doing everything she had hoped for. Perhaps she would close her eyes for a moment and just be.

The whirring of the elevator prevented her from resting for too long. When a ding sounded in the lobby, she waited in anxious silence, uncertain of who it might be. Veronica, Cass, and Arcade had all gone out drinking for the evening and both ED-E and Rex were in the penthouse. Curious, she called out. Hearing no response, Jordan began to sit forward. Maybe they had not heard her.

It was then that she saw Boone, standing still just inside the curtain. His glasses were off and the malice she saw in his eyes made her heart race. That she was exposed and vulnerable in front him made her want to shrink away. It was not lost on her that at one time, being nude in front of him meant nothing to her. Yet as he stood there glowering at her, blue eyes a shade of cold steel, she felt violated.

"Boone, good to see you," Jordan said with professional detachment.

His voice sounded just as coarse as she remembered, but more rigid now. "President Kimball sends his regards."

Jordan lunged for the knife tucked in her dirty clothes, but was forced under the water before she could make contact. Punching at the inside of Boone's elbow, she hoped to break its locked position, but only succeeded in making him more determined. She then clambered for a grip on something, anything to get out of his hold, but found it difficult. Her limbs were too heavy and the surfaces too slick for her resistance to mean much. Continuing to thrash about, Jordan made a panicked effort to claw at his face with her pruned fingers. It was all she could think to do.

/

Vulpes wrenched his pack through the opening behind him and slid the panel back into place. He had read the entirety of Joshua's book on his trek back from Zion and current circumstances were weighing even more on his mind, making him eager to see Jordan. Being well past dusk as it was, he was knew he wouldn't be making it to Cottonwood Cove until the following day, so spending the night in a comfortable bed sounded like paradise.

"Well hello there!" Yes Man chirped a few minutes later. Since Jordan had added his profile to the Lucky 38's security system several weeks prior, he no longer needed to sneak past the securitrons on his way in. "Ms. Jordan sure is popular this evening."

On the other side of the platform's glass wall, a securitron shooting with nonchalance at a half-built cinderblock wall caught Vulpes's attention. It had not occurred to him that the machines might ever experience boredom. "What do you mean, Yes Man?" he asked.

The robot's arms waved about in explanation. "Oh, her soldier friend came to visit."

"Boone?"

"You bet!"

Vulpes felt bile rise in his throat. "Is he still here?"

"Sure is!" Yes Man bounced in place.

"Faex! Take me to them!"

What followed was the longest and most cramped elevator ride Vulpes had ever experienced. He had never noticed how long it took to climb the 38's numerous floors and he suspected that the robot's considerable weight slowed it further. When the car doors slid open at last, however, Vulpes's momentary relief was replaced with alarm.

Rushing towards the sound of splashing water in the bathroom, time slowed when he crossed its threshold. Without slowing his stride, he observed Jordan's hands swiping blindly at her attacker and Boone, sneering at the newcomer over his shoulder, tensed his grip further in an attempt to hurry the process along before he could be stopped. Vulpes felt his fist connect with the side of the sniper's skull and the man's grasp loosened enough for the Legionary to throw him back from the tub.

Vulpes allowed himself to be distracted for a brief moment as Jordan crested the surface of the water, noisily gasping for air. It was a mistake he was reminded of when he felt Boone's fist land on his ribcage, breaking his focus with a whince. Whirling to face his opponent, Vulpes struck without hesitation, a well-placed punch finding its way to the sniper's jaw. He attacked again, this time striking at Boone's liver and as he doubled-over, a final punch to the throat.

When Boone collapsed to the floor, Vulpes moved to finish him off, wishing to correct the mistake of letting him live the first time. Ripper in hand, he was about to thumb its switch when Jordan called for him to stop. Throwing a glare over his shoulder, he growled, "Are you serious?"

"Yes," she said, her naked form slumped over the side of the tub.

"This is the second time he has attacked you-"

"Please."

Vulpes felt his chest heaving in rage, but acquiesced. He could see in her eyes there was something she wasn't telling him. Returning his weapon to its place on his belt, he hoisted the sniper up from the floor and hauled him to Yes Man, who had been watching the scene unfold from the doorway, his hulking frame too large to pass through. Boone was still struggling to catch his breath, but was able to stand in a hunched lean on his own.

"Yes Man, remove him from the premises and do not allow him to return. He is no longer welcome here," Vulpes ordered in clipped speech.

The robot responded as cheerful as ever. "Yes, sir!"

Vulpes followed the pair to the elevator and before the doors slid shut, he addressed the would-be assassin, voice slick with rancor. "Twice I have stayed my hand at her request. The next time I see you, you're dead."

The Frumentarius took a moment to collect himself, eyeing the still vibrant carpet at his feet. If his wife's reasoning was not completely solid, he would lose his shit. He could not fathom a reason for letting someone continue to breathe when they were insistent that you did not.

Returning to Jordan, he knelt at her side, boots squishing in the soaked rug. Crimson tendrils hugged her throat like a grim necklace and her eyes drooped in exhaustion.

"You wore your Legion armor to come see me?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

With a delicate touch, Vulpes brushed stray hairs from her forehead. "Considering how you looked at me last time," he whispered, allowing the sentence to trail off. Her giggle was his reward and, grabbing for a towel, he continued, "I believe there is a bed calling your name."

Reaching into the remaining foot of water, he yanked the stopper free and laid it aside before helping his wife to stand. Noting the violent way in which her legs shook from the adrenaline's aftermath, Vulpes wrapped her in the towel and lifted her into his arms. When her fingers clasped around the edge of his breastplate and a sigh slipped from her lips, he held her a little closer.

As the elevator ferried the pair up the few floors to the penthouse, they remained quiet. Neither Rex nor ED-E came to greet them, the intrusion doing little to stir either of them from their bench by the downstairs windows. It was not until Vulpes had settled Jordan on the bed that he asked, "Are you going to tell me why you insist on letting him live?"

"Are you going to take off that armor and crawl in here with me?' she countered, a puckish smile on her lips.

His laughter lighted from the depths of his eyes and the brooding angles of his face softened. "I suppose that is a fair price to pay."

Jordan watched as he undressed, equipment dropping without ceremony to the floor. "At the safehouse it was, as I said, because Boone was my friend. He was hurt, because I guess he was reminded that I have never returned his feelings and seeing me with you of all people made it worse. This time," she paused as Vulpes slid under the covers next to her. "This time I asked you to stop because he…isn't well."

"Explain."

"The Legion has files on me and my friends, right?"

He nodded. "Some files contain more than others, but yes."

"And what do you know of Carla Boone?" Jordan asked.

"She was a showgirl before she married," Vulpes replied, thinking over the small paragraph in Boone's dossier that discussed her. "She was pregnant when she was captured by the Legion, but died before she could be bought."

Jordan let out a silent huff of grim laughter. "Someone wasn't entirely honest in their record keeping." Vulpes's brow twitched in confusion, but she continued before he could voice his questions. "She wasn't 'captured' by the Legion. The owner of the motel in Novac sold her out in an attempt to 'teach her a lesson' for being rude. Carla was kidnapped in the middle of the night while Boone was working and the Legionaries that took her made sure they weren't seen."

"Why is this relevant?"

"How does the file say she died?"

"Officially, it is listed as complications from pregnancy, but rumors say otherwise. I was away at the time and the intelligence is questionable."

Jordan nodded and sighed. "Boone tracked her to Cottonwood Cove. One .308 round later and Carla and the baby were freed from a life of slavery. Boone became a suicidal drug addict afterwards. It got worse while we were traveling together, and he did later go into therapy, but Dr. Usanagi said it wouldn't take much for him to relapse."

Vulpes mulled the new details over. He almost pitied Boone now, knowing it would break him if he were forced to kill Jordan, the agony becoming incomprehensible if she were pregnant, too. However, to him it didn't excuse the man from attacking and betraying Jordan and he still intended to uphold his promise.

Details about Carla's death being altered in the reports were not unsurprising to Vulpes. Aurelius, the centurion in charge of the Cove and all slave inductions for the region, would not want Caesar to know that someone had gotten the drop on a major Legion outpost. He would have been dead by the end of the week.

"You spoke with his doctor?" Vulpes asked after a period of silence. Even Legion healers upheld stringent codes of ethics that prevented them from speaking about their patients.

"Vegas doctors tend to be more forthcoming when you're helping fund their operation."

He nodded. True to form, everything in New Vegas was about money. "So you wish to see Boone suffer?" he asked, knowing that if he killed the man, it would only be giving him what he wanted.

"No," Jordan sighed. "He has made life more difficult for me, but no, I don't want him to suffer. I just…"

"Do not want his blood on your hands."

"That."

Vulpes pulled her to his chest, his fingers tangling in her hair. "You do understand that I will kill him the next time I see him, don't you? He tried to kill my wife. I cannot let that slide."

A shiver curled through Jordan's belly while dread settled into her limbs. She loved hearing Vulpes call her his wife, but it didn't diminish the gravity of the mess Boone's heart had created. When her voice came, it was soft and sincere.

"I know, but I hope I'm not there for it."

/

An ache had settled into Boone's jaw and brow, but he ignored it in favor of continuing his march through Freeside. He didn't know where he was going, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be the embassy. It was not the first time he had failed a mission, but it stung worse than the others.

He had been so very close. Jordan's strength had started to give out and her strikes had grown wild with panic. He could even see it in her eyes as she twisted and jerked under the water, she knew the end was coming. But then her goddamn Legionary had shown up and ruined everything.

Boone should have known, though. Should have seen it coming. A bullet to the head hadn't even slowed her down, so why would his attempt at drowning her in a bathtub stick? The bitch played dice with death and won so often she could have been the house.

Rounding the corner, he headed for the east gate. Maybe he could stay the night in North Vegas. Jules and Crandon liked him well enough to leave him alone. It would just be the one night and then-

"Looking for a fix, man? I got what you need."

Boone slowed to a stop, searching for the voice's owner. In the shadows of Mick & Ralph's stood a lone figure, eyes glazed and scalp itching. Dixon. He had met the drug dealer months ago when Jordan threatened to kill him if he didn't stop selling to a couple of has-beens that the Followers were after. The man sold decent chems, so long as you stayed away from anything he slapped his name on.

Joining the dealer, Boone asked, "What are you selling?"

"Take a look, baby," he sang, opening up the flaps of his coat. Lining the worn interior were rows of turbo, jet, psycho, whiskey, and buffout, plus a few of his own concoctions.

Boone felt his mouth begin to water. He was clean, had been for months, but failing to kill Jordan had fucked him up. He knew he needed to stay sober. If he was going to succeed in his second attempt, he had to be. But he didn't know how he was supposed to manage his rage, to calm down without hurting an innocent bystander.

Realizing that his hand was halfway to a pack of psycho, Boone snatched it back. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks, man."

"All right. Your loss."

As Dixon began to close the front of his coat, a silhouette of another chem caught his eye.

"Wait. What is that?"

"Med-X. You won't feel a damn thing with it."

Numbness. It was what Boone missed most about when he used. If he was numb, he couldn't feel the agony or the emptiness. He could exist without caring. Cigarettes mellowed, but chems took away. That was what he wanted right then. To not feel. He could use it this one time to get him through the night. Figuring out another plan to kill the Courier could wait until he was calmed down and clear-headed in the morning.

It was just the one dose.

"I'll take it."

* * *

 _A/N: O.O_

 _That entire section with Vulpes felt rough to me, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_


	25. October 25-26, 2281

Hope you got your things together  
Hope you are quite prepared to die  
Looks like we're in for nasty weather  
One eye taken for an eye  
\- Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Bad Moon Rising"

"Say that again," Caesar demanded, frost encasing every syllable.

The young Legionary before him almost began to tremble. If he were in a better mood, Caesar might have laughed. He had killed the messenger on several occasions, giving the kid plenty of reasons to be nervous about delivering bad news.

"Two veterans have returned from the Utah. They say the White Legs have been butchered by the Courier and the Burned Man."

Caesar's snarled lip quivered in rage. "Bring them to me."

Seeing the recruit scuttle from his presence, the Son of Mars sat motionless and seething. If the Courier had, in fact, helped Joshua defeat Legion allies, he would have her head on a pike within the week. He had sent her, without escort, as an emissary to the Boomers weeks ago. Had she made a fool of him?

The faint sound of wood creaking gave way to an emphatic snap. The small collection of Legionaries and slaves that worked in Caesar's tent stilled and it was then that he realized he had broken the armrest of his throne. "Felina!"

Desperate not to enrage him further, she scurried to his side. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Find me a slave to fix this piece of shit!"

As she hastened out of the tent, the recruit from before returned with two hobbling veterans. The long hike back into the Mojave had left them sore and in need of rest. They did their best to salute their emperor, but he ignored it in his rush for answers.

"Tell. Me. Everything."

He listened with growing fury as the two recounted how the campaign against the Dead Horses and Sorrows had been going well until it quite painfully wasn't. Rumors had begun to swirl through the White Legs camps of a pale woman with fiery hair disrupting their missions. Taking months-old intelligence reports of the Courier into account, they had all proceeded with caution. Then came the evening when all of the White Legs' revered war totems had gone missing and one of their camps was left a smoking carcass. The following morning the woman with the hair, with the Burned Man at her side, led the Sorrows and Dead Horses in the complete annihilation of the two centuries of White Legs that had been in the Three Marys canyon. Only Salt-Upon-Wounds had been left alive.

"Fuck!" Caesar roared and again his staff stilled. "Where is Vulpes?"

"He has not returned yet, my Lord," Lucius said from his side.

"Fucking shit." Typical. When he needed someone they were already away serving him. "Get every available contubernium out in the wastes and find her ass. I want her alive!"

/

There was a part of Jordan that hated herself for not bringing Cass with her. She was all but duck walking through the Great Khan longhouse, Rex at her side, as she snuck her way towards Karl's bedroom. With Cass's bravado and penchant for fighting, she could have kept the settlement entertained for hours. Or, at the very least, kept Karl entertained. Her aching knees would have thanked her for that.

She paused as she reached the door to the Legion emissary's quarters and stole a glance over her shoulder. It was the early morning and most Khans weren't awake yet, but she knew Karl was. Jordan had seen him leave for a run some 20 minutes prior, keeping with the Legion's fitness standards while away from the Fort. She worried she would not have long before he returned and the last thing she wanted was for him to catch her with a red, empty hand. She could at least dance her way out of danger if she had possession of his journal, creating a scene and waking Papa.

Working her bobby pin and screwdriver through the pins of the lock, she was only somewhat perplexed to find how little time it took to break in. Jordan suspected Karl would not have been thrilled having such a low level lock on his door, but knew that Papa Khan was distrusting of anyone outside his tribe. He would have wanted easy access to the diplomat's quarters at all times and for once, she was thankful for his skepticism.

Stealing one last look behind her, Jordan ushered Rex into the bedroom and shut the door. Annoyed but unsurprised that Karl would keep his trunk locked, she worked her way into it with a speed bordering on reckless, swearing at the three bobby pins she lost in the process. When the last pin had shifted and the lock's plug finished its turn, she almost squealed in glee.

"Here we go," she murmured to herself as she caught sight of the journal sitting atop Karl's Legion armor. A smile formed on her lips as she flipped through its pages.

/

Jordan sat comfortably in a chair normally reserved for the emissary at Papa's makeshift dinner table and throne. She had spent the last hour reading through the Legionary's journal and was pleased. He would probably be dead by day's end.

The settlement in Red Rock Canyon had begun to stir to life while she read. Khans were entering the longhouse, preparing breakfast and washing up while Rex lay in the floor by Jordan, his tail thumping against the hardwood. As she had begun to wonder how much longer Karl was going to be, Papa exited his room.

Approaching the table, he regarded her with a curious look. "So, the cub enters the wolf's den once more. What can I do for you, Courier?"

Before Jordan could answer, a shout came from the other end of the longhouse. Karl had returned, sweating and panting, to find both his bedroom door and footlocker standing wide open. His string of Latin curses brought the Khans to a standstill, all eyes watching as his outburst moved into the main area.

"Who did this?" he demanded.

"What's wrong, Karl? Someone steal your precious skirt?" Papa asked with a laugh. No one else joined in.

"Someone has broken into my room and stolen something quite personal to me. I want-"

"It's truly some interesting reading, Karl," Jordan stated. Focus shifted to her as the Legionary moved to see who was speaking. When he found the Courier sitting in his chair, his angered expression began to pale. "What I find most impressive is the number of ways you manage to call them savages. I had no idea the word had so many synonyms."

Jordan rose to her feet with an easy grace and strolled her way towards Papa. Handing over the offending journal, she continued, "I think you will find this to be most fascinating, Papa. Particularly the part about the executions."

As the elder Khan skimmed through the little book, reading passages here and there as he went, Jordan addressed the group before her. "The great and mighty Caesar has sent you a liar. The Legion has conquered and assimilated 87 tribes, stripping all of them of their rights, their traditions, and their identities. Caesar has never had any intention of letting you be an exception."

The air in the room grew frigid as everyone waited for their chieftain's word. Jordan could see the outrage and flush growing on the man's face and wondered if he was about to suffer from a heart attack.

"Great Khans!" he barked at last. "Drive Caesar's dog out of our camp! If he's too slow to flee, kill him!"

Jordan smiled as Karl fled the longhouse, swearing revenge at the top of his lungs as he went. "Papa, I would like to speak with you about our relationship. May we speak in private?"

He replied with a curt tone and stiff nod. "After breakfast."

/

"Whatever your motivation was, I think we owe you a debt," Papa said as he straddled his chair.

Rex leaned against Jordan, begging for a scratch as she rubbed her hands on her knees. It was awkward to be sitting on the man's bed, but there was nowhere else for her to park at the moment. "Papa, I won't do you the disservice of empty flattery. I know the Mojave has not been kind to your tribe and I heard you talk earlier of leaving after the hostilities are over, but I would ask you to stay."

"To what end? There is no glory to be had for us here."

"I beg to differ. What New Vegas needs is to be independent, free from both the Legion and the NCR. Help me fight for that and you won't ever have to hide in a canyon again." Jordan hoped she looked earnest and not desperate.

Papa scratched at his beard and shifted in his chair. "What do you purpose?"

"I'm going to be leading an army of upgraded securitrons when the dam goes to hell again, but I would be forever grateful to have the help of your Khans. After everything settles, the Gomorrah will be experiencing a…change in management. I'd like you for you to run it. You can keep the prostitutes, but I want them well taken care of and for the chems to stop. I'd also like for Jack and Dianne to work with the Followers in producing more medical supplies."

"And what of our traditions?"

Jordan gave an impish smile. "Beating the shit out of each other? You can keep doing that." Papa's laugh was hearty and pure. Knowing she had won him over, she extended her hand. "So what do you say, Papa? Ready to come in out of the cold?"

/

If Crispus were to admit it to himself, he would not savor what was about to happen. The contubernium he had been sent out with had caught sight of the Courier leaving Bonnie Springs and managed to keep themselves out of sight, choosing to double back and set up in the abandoned rock crushing plant on the southwestern end of New Vegas. She was going to come passing by, unaware of the bounty on her head, and fall right into their dusty, sweaty hands. He knew it was an unacceptable opinion, but the woman had impressed him at Nipton and he did not wish her or her dog harm.

He was squatting at the top of a conveyor belt, just within the shadows of the structure's opening when he heard the Courier's cheerful humming. _Turn around. Head north_ , he pleaded in silence with her. _Get out of here_.

To the Frumentarius's dismay, she cut through the center of the plant's campus, her cyberdog becoming more alert and tense as they snaked through the production lines and discarded boulders. As the Courier crossed the midway point, Fabius, a fellow recruit he had only met that day, stepped from behind an office building, blocking her intended path. She stilled, and as she turned to take in the others emerging from their own dark corners, Crispus could see the tension build in her shoulders. At her side, the dog lowered itself and began to emit a deep growl that grew louder with each passing second.

As the contubernium closed in on the woman, Crispus watched with anticipation as her fingers twitched, itching for the .45 strapped to her thigh. Someone was about to die, he was sure of it. She waited until the decanus was drawing near before ripping the pistol from its holster and dashing forward, gracing Fabius with a new hole in his head as she went. Slipping between buildings, she and the cyberdog bolted out into the open, headed towards the remnants of a small bridge.

The pair was almost there when another recruit grew close enough to shove the Courier forward, forcing her to lose her footing and tumble to the earth, her gun skittering out of reach. Spinning around in a whirlwind of dust, the dog launched himself at the Legionary but was sent careening into unconsciousness with a blow to the head. Crispus could hear the decanus laugh, assuming that the struggle was over and their victory at hand. _Fool_ , he thought. In a flash, the woman rolled onto her back, teeth bared in anger, and kicked out repeatedly at an advancing prime. The decanus let out a whoop in his amusement and moved to strike her in the ribs.

What followed was a quick and decisive judgement that Crispus felt the commander deserved for his arrogance. As his foot descended, the woman grabbed onto him and twisted her body between his legs, forcing him to trip. Landing face first in the dirt, the Courier wasted no time pinning him from behind and ripped his head back. A rough jerk and she sliced through his neck with a knife no one had realized she possessed. The decanus died with confusion in his eyes.

Rising to her feet, the woman prepared herself for the next round, knife still at the ready while the rest of the Legionaries attempted to process what they had witnessed. Again she impressed Crispus, allowing neither fear nor panic to creep into her face as she waited. Instead, a violence glinted in her eyes like blades made of emeralds.

The prime, now the most senior Legionary, hurled himself forward, attempting to bring her into a headlock. To his misfortune, the Courier moved without hestitation, holding onto his arm as she swung herself out and delivered a deathblow, sinking her knife into his femoral artery.

Before she could release him from her grip, the Legionary had grabbed hold of her braid and wrenched her head backwards. It was then that Crispus stepped forward and struck her with the handle of his machete. There had been enough killing for one day.

/

Vulpes sunk into his chair and sighed. It had been a long day and a half back to the Fort. Without Jordan, he would have woken before sunrise, eaten a quick meal, and been on his way. With her, however, it had proven to be altogether different.

 _His eyes drifted open, the early morning sunlight creating a welcoming glow to the day. The expanse beside him lay empty, prompting him to feel for clues as to how long it had been that way. Finding the sheets still held warmth, he sighed. She was close by, probably in the kitchen._

 _Untangling himself, he slipped into a pair of pajama pants from a nearby shelf and padded his way down the stairs. The floor was cool beneath his feet and the air in the penthouse hinted at the crisp weather waiting outside, all but sending a chill through him as it moved across his bare chest._

 _Halfway to the kitchen, he was stopped in his tracks, heat jolting through his body at the sight before him. Jordan paused in her own path, wearing nothing but his tunica. With the curves of her body distorting its length, the crimson fabric skimmed the tops of her thighs, accenting her alabaster skin._

 _Mistaking his expression for anger, she glanced at the tunica and rasped, "I'm sorry. It was the first thing I found when I woke up."_

" _You should be," he growled. "The things I'm going to do to you."_

It had been frenzied hands and gasping breaths that ended in a sweat-slicked pile of limbs on the floor. The sluggish shower afterwards and accompanying mid-morning meal meant it was around noon by the time he left. He had no regrets, but his progress had been further slowed by run-ins with cazadores and Vipers. Taking care to avoid NCR troops passing by the 188 had also put a dent in his time. Though he had been dressed in mercenary armor at the time, Jordan's souring reputation with the Republic kept him from pushing his luck. There was no doubt in his mind that Boone had gone back to embassy and regaled them all with how the Frumentarius from the posters had thwarted their mission and saved the Courier's life.

When he had reached the Fort, instead of enjoying dinner with Lucius and the others, he had been summoned to Caesar's tent. From what Vulpes could gather from his commander's raving, the man had finally learned about Zion.

"Where is that bastard's head?" he shouted.

"I left it in Zion, my Lord," Vulpes said. "The smell would have attracted too much attention on the trek back."

Caesar smacked his cup off the conference table and demanded to have a head to display the next time someone was assassinated. "I don't give a shit if it attracts every deathclaw from Shady Sands to Flagstaff!"

It was an unfortunate, heated reminder of how little Caesar valued anyone around him. Feeling frustrated and worn, Vulpes stopped a slave on his way back to his tent and arranged for his meal to be brought to him. When Siri delivered a steaming plate of coyote steak, carrots, and honey mesquite pods along with a bottle of sarsaparilla, he was delighted.

It wasn't until Vulpes stood from his desk sometime later that he realized something was wrong. His vision unfocused and the room felt as though it would take a roll to the side at any moment. Trying to reach his bed, he stumbled forward and braced himself on his bookshelf.

"You really should keep your things locked up when you're away from the Fort."

Vulpes gave a sluggish turn of his head, alarmed to see Felina standing in his tent.

"Mother Darkness," she explained.

"What the fuck have you done?" he slurred. Vulpes had been drugged often enough in training that, now knowing what was being used against him, he knew precisely what was happening in his body. Keeping a mental count of how long he had until he passed out, he forced himself to focus as Felina slinked towards him, every bit as predatory as her namesake.

"Caesar has yet to provide me with an heir to his throne and he barely survived the surgery while you were gone. Who's to say the tumor won't come back?"

Vulpes snarled at her exaggerated sense of importance. She might have been the imperator's favorite, but she wasn't his only.

"The best way I figure I can secure my place is if _you_ give me a son."

"Why?" Vulpes could feel his consciousness beginning to erode around the edges.

Felina stepped forward and placed her hand at his hip. "You get me pregnant and you'll have to marry me. I know too much for you not to."

He wasn't certain what she meant by her last comment, but as her hand slid to the buckle of his belt, he threw an arm back. She stumbled and latching onto the front of her slave's rags, he yanked her forward. "You disgust me," he spat.

Drugged or not, Vulpes was still a powerful opponent and Felina stood no chance. He shoved her away, towards the entrance of the tent, and followed her clumsy steps. Without hesitation, he planted his foot in her torso and ejected her from his quarters. Unwilling to take any more chances, but knowing that he was about to black out, he trailed after her and grabbed a passing recruit.

"Take her back to Caesar and find someone to guard my tent." He did not have much time to explain further.

The recruit lifted the heaving girl and scampered away. Vulpes would talk to Caesar in the morning, after the poison had passed from his system and he could function again. His last thoughts before the blackness enveloped him were of the slave girl on a cross.

* * *

 _A/N: Damn it, Felina._


	26. October 27, 2281

I spoke to God today and she said that she's ashamed  
What have I become  
What have I done  
I spoke to the Devil today and he swears he's not to blame  
And I understood 'cause I feel the same  
\- Five Finger Death Punch, "Wrong Side of Heaven"

Vulpes woke the following morning to a debilitating headache and a drool-soaked rug. Felina had used more of the poison than she should have, but that was unsurprising. She was a foolish and inexperienced little girl, playing at games that often saw her betters killed. Threatening him as she had was unwise and, as he had done for so many others, he would give her a lesson in why. She would beg for mercy by the end of the day.

Rising from the floor, Vulpes realized that he had passed out in his armor and growled in frustration. There would now be ridiculous lines pressed into his torso and legs for at least the next few hours. Sighing, he stripped down to his underwear, hoping to give his skin a chance to breathe and recuperate as he readied himself for the day.

Needing food and bathing water, he poked his head outside and winced. The sun always seemed a bit brighter in the mornings after Mother Darkness training. Changing his focus, Vulpes was greeted by two recruits and a chilly morning breeze. In the distance he could hear blacksmiths at their grinding wheels, Legionaries shouting, and the hurried rattle of slave packs. The Fort was more on edge than usual.

"Is something going on?" he asked his guards.

"My Lord, the Courier was captured last night and brought in this morning. Caesar is sentencing her for her crimes at noon."

 _Fuck_.

"Very well. You are dismissed, but have a slave bring me breakfast and fresh water for my basin."

"Yes, my Lord."

Vulpes disappeared back into his tent and wasted no time in removing a set of spare armor from his footlocker. Laying it across his bed, he began to pace. Jordan being captured was the Worst Case Scenario. Caesar was either going to execute her or sentence her to a life of continual humiliation. Vulpes could not stand for either.

He was startled when two slave girls entered his quarters, his requested items in tow. When he dismissed them with barely disguised agitation, they scurried out, leaving his tent door flapping to a close. With Jordan's life balancing on a machete's edge, he needed to hurry. Felina's suffering would have to wait.

/

When Vulpes swept into the main tent an hour later, he was again met with the sight of a shouting Caesar stomping a path into the dirt.

"I want every single one of her degenerate friends put on crosses! Do you hear me? I want one in every city and town in this godforsaken desert! Vulpes! Where the fuck have you been?"

The Frumentarius never flinched. "I apologize, my Lord. I was dealing with the aftermath of an insolent slave."

"Deal with it faster next time!"

"With pleasure," he smiled.

Caesar continued his tirade, shouting orders at soldiers and slaves alike. He wanted the tent spotless, the repairs to his throne finished, and every mongrel and high-ranking Legionary in camp present for the sentencing. It was going to be a showcase of his strength, a reminder to the Courier of the force she had betrayed. Vulpes knew all of this and with any other "degenerate" he would have approved of the measures being taken. But this was Jordan. She was going to be unimpressed, possibly even amused. Caesar was setting himself up for failure, basing his plans on a foolhardy willingness to believe that the Courier was still just like any other uneducated Wasteland profligate.

As noon drew near, the tempo of the tent slowed, though the general mood heightened. Work was finished up and Legionaries began to assemble in rank and file along the headquarter walls. With Caesar settling into his throne and doing his best to look disinterested, Vulpes took his place by the man's side.

He felt his heart clench and his pulse race as Jordan was brought before the packed tent, but his expression remained as impassive as hers. Hands bound behind her back, her clothes were disheveled and wisps of hair fell from her braid. Bruises and dirt peppered what could be seen of her skin and her lower lip was freshly split. She had fought back and sometime that morning, someone had decided to repay her for it. Shoving her onto her knees, the two escorting veterans remained to stand guard.

"Courier, you have been brought before me today to face justice for your crimes. You have lied to Legion commanders, waged war against our allies, broken our alliance with the Great Khans, killed our emissary, and murdered three Legionaries, including a well-respected decanus. Do you have anything to say?" Caesar lounged back into his throne, expecting sniffling pleas for leniency and promises to change.

Jordan's lips turned into a sly smile as she took stock of the men before her. "Well, for one, I appreciate your attempts at manipulating me into fearing for my life. Good job. Two, you entered into a contract with the Great Khans under false pretenses. It took little effort on my part to break that 'alliance.' Also, I didn't kill Karl, but I am curious. How did you find out?"

"His head arrived at Cottonwood Cove this morning."

Her smile widened. "Shouldn't have fucked with them then."

Caesar's face was the color of a blood-spattered tunica and his rage seeped out through the trembling of his lip as he sat forward. "Anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Jordan continued. The ease with which she was facing certain death both impressed and disturbed Vulpes. "I'm guilty as charged and have no remorse for working with Joshua Graham to defeat the White Legs." Murmurs spread through the gathered Legionaries at the mention of the Burned Man. No one had ever done so in such an open manner. "And I did kill three of your men. Rather impressed with myself for that one. Honestly, though, you really should teach them the value of humility. It's always their arrogance that does them in."

Whispers were drawn to an abrupt silence when Caesar rose from his throne. From where he stood, Vulpes could see the strain in his neck and the throbbing vein of his temple. "Thirty lashes."

As Jordan was drug away and Caesar turned to leave, he paused. "You'll be delivering the punishment after lunch."

"My Lord?" Vulpes all but stuttered.

"Lucius is out of practice and Lanius will kill her for shits and giggles," he said.

Before Vulpes could say anything more, his commander had withdrawn into his private quarters, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of shock and dread. It bloomed first in the pit of his stomach, then spread outward, infecting every organ and cell in its path. He needed to see her, to prepare her for what was about to happen, because he was powerless to stop it.

Moving as hastily as he dared, Vulpes took off for the one room shack that served as the carcer. Devoid of any furniture save for a desk and a chair, it was never much used for anything other than interrogations, since keeping people imprisoned was not a form of punishment in the Legion. Slipping into the shed, he dismissed the prime who stood guard, claiming a need to question the Courier before the scourging.

Jordan sat chained to the floor, now sporting a bloody nose in addition to the rest of her injuries. Vulpes could not stand to look at her, knowing that her condition would be worsening at his hands. Attempting to sit on the edge of the desk and gather his thoughts, he found it impossible to be still.

His distress evident, Jordan asked in a quiet voice, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he laughed and rubbed his face in frustration. Moving to crouch before her, and keeping his voice low, he said, "I have to scourge you."

He could almost see the color drain from her face, the implications of his confession taking root. Unbeknownst to Caesar, he was having a man torture his own beloved wife.

Vulpes knew Jordan could see the agony in his eyes as her own softened. Shifting her chains so that she could touch him, she rested her hand against his cheek. "It's okay, Shelby," she whispered.

"No, it isn't. Nothing about this is okay."

"Doesn't matter. We'll make it through."

"I'll try not to make it hurt," he promised.

"No," Jordan shook her head. "You do what you have to. We can't risk anyone figuring you out. I'll be okay. You can make it up to me later."

He studied her eyes for a moment, taking in the way they glimmered even under the single light of the carcer. "How can you be so calm about this?"

A small smile flitted across her lips. "I always knew this was a possibility. Being upset won't get me out of it."

Vulpes took a breath to steady himself and kissed her forehead. He didn't know how much worse the day could get.

/

An hour later, Jordan stood in peace as Vulpes shackled her to the whipping post that had been erected in the arena. She had been forced to remove her shirt and bra, but refused to feel any shame about it, focusing instead on her husband's face as he fastened the restraints. The rows of faces peering in through the breaks in the walls and lining the walkway above made her feel as though every Legionary in the Fort had turned out to watch. The only sound to be heard, however, was a faint wind rattling through the arena.

Making a show of inspecting the last manacle, Vulpes whispered, "I'm sorry," and disappeared behind her. Ahead of her, Caesar appeared on the ledge, preparing to address the crowd that had gathered. She noted that he had changed his attire, now donning a set of armor more closely resembling the daily wear of his foot soldiers.

"Courier, for your crimes against the Legion, you have been sentenced to 30 lashes. May your fate be a reminder of the justice Mars will bring to those who oppose us."

 _What a load of shit_ , she thought.

Jordan moved her tongue through her mouth, repositioning the small strip of leather that Vulpes had slipped to her. "Some people have broken teeth during a scourging," he had warned. Setting her jaw, she braced herself. She had never witnessed a lashing, let alone experienced one, and was unable to comprehend the pain that was about to be delivered to her. Vulpes had assured her that he would be using a single bullwhip rather than a multi-tail, but that it would likely still cut into her flesh. Whatever good that was going to do her, she was yet to find out.

A loud crack rang through the air and Jordan almost felt her knees buckle under her. It was a pain so blinding she could not tell if her skin had been flayed open or merely touched. When the second blow came, she could not stop the yawp that escaped her. How was she to endure 28 more? By the eighth strike her legs had given out and lungs began to spasm. By the fourteenth she was gone.

 _"Come on!" he whispered._

 _She giggled in excitement. "Where are we going?"_

 _"You'll see," the boy with blue eyes laughed._

 _She chased after him into the night, staying on his heels even as he began to climb. When he extended his hand to pull her onto the barn roof, she didn't hesitate. The view from the top was breathtaking and she thought she might like it better than the view from the mountain. She could see their farms and the river running through them, with jagged peaks to the west. A million distant stars spread out across the sky, but he was only watching her._

 _"What do you think?"_

 _Her back stretched out across the gambrel, she breathed, "It's beautiful."_

 _"Not as beautiful as you," he said._

 _Her smile widened as his lips brushed against hers._

Jordan came to with a gasp. Vulpes was gone and she was back in the carcer, chained to the floor. Her button-down shirt clung to her front, leaving her tattered and bandaged back exposed to the air.

"I wouldn't move too much if I were you, Courier."

Jordan craned her head to see who the familiar voice belonged to. Relief washed through her at the sight of the young Legionary with pale curls and steady eyes. "I never have caught your name," she said.

"Crispus."

"Well, Crispus, I'm Jordan."

/

Vulpes sat amongst a rocky outcropping on the Fort's western side, breaking strands of grass and weeds in his hands. He had often hidden himself there when he needed to think in peace, away from the sounds of bustling slaves and cocksure recruits. In the past, he had always focused more on the dam, its 700 feet of concrete staring back like a taunting miscreant. Today, though, it was the Lucky 38 in the distance calling to him, like a siren begging him to let go and come home. It could sing and seduce him all it wanted so long as he didn't have to look at himself.

Caesar had pulled him aside before the spectacle had gotten under way, making it clear to Vulpes that he wanted the Courier to suffer, but not to die. He had other plans in place for her, plans that he would not be sharing yet. Waiting for them at the carcer afterwards, Siri had had her small Legion-approved doctor's kit already laid out across the desk. It was unusual for medical assistance to be extended to those who had been a recipient of Caesar's wrath, so when Vulpes had given the slave an inquisitive look, she had replied, "True to Caesar," and set to work. Whispers from the furthest shadows of the Fox's mind told him what those schemes would be, but his heart rejected them. He knew it was foolish, yet he hoped Caesar would not be so cruel.

Only two days prior Vulpes had been making love to Jordan on the floor of the penthouse. Now her blood marred his uniform, speckled his face and neck, and stained his hands. It was a clusterfuck of a situation they had found themselves in, but he knew she could take it and anything else Caesar threw at her. The problem was, he wasn't sure if he could.

For weeks Vulpes had been grappling with the idea of leaving the Legion, but he still felt duty-bound to Caesar, even with Jordan lying beaten and bound in the shack up the hill. He hated himself for it. He was a coward, too afraid to let go even when it was obvious the ship was headed for disaster.

He also felt a frustration festering underneath his self-loathing. In ten years of service, Vulpes had never entertained the thought of life outside the Legion. It was all he had and nothing remained save for its trappings. Accepting it had been how he had survived and risen to his current station. He had given everything he had for a decade, but all it took was his past drinking on a barstool at The Tops to tempt him away.

 _You have not given ten years. They have been taken from you._

Joshua had spoken the truth that night. If the Legion had never found their village, he and Jordan would have had a plot of land like everyone else and a house full of children. They would have snuck out some nights and run off of to the barn or maybe down to the riverbanks to enjoy each other's company. They would have been happy and life would have been simple. But that was not the hand they were dealt.

 _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer._

As time had gone by, Vulpes had begun to wonder if Jordan was right. The book that Joshua had given him had passages discussing how to earn the loyalty of troops and Caesar's actions had mirrored the advice well. With each passing success on the other side of the river, Caesar bestowed more and more attention on him. He had held the banquet, given him armor, sent him a concubine, and given him more freedom and respect. If Vulpes was being manipulated as he had begun to suspect, he found it both insulting and embarrassing.

 _Your future is yours to choose, Shelby._

Vulpes knew it was not going to take much to push him off the Legion bandwagon. Jordan and Joshua had worn him down and at 29 years of age, he was growing tired of constant war, of never resting, and of always being a man apart. But until that final shove came, he could not let go quite yet.

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands, onyx strands catching between his fingers. For the first time in ages, he felt utterly lost. Cursing himself, a lone tear escaped onto his cheek, mocking him as it went. Though he could accept that Jordan was his greatest weakness, what he could not accept was the perceived chink in his armor that his guilt and self-loathing caused. It gnawed at him and he knew it would supplant his nightmares from Utah with the sight of her blood dripping from his fingers, staining the dirt beneath him and the future ahead of him.

At the sound of boots crunching in the gravel behind him, Vulpes wiped the offending tear away and rubbed at his face.

"My Lord?" It was Crispus, slowing to a tentative step. "I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone would be here."

"It's fine." Throwing out a hand, Vulpes motioned for the recruit to sit beside him.

"Quintus relieved me for dinner, but I needed space to think."

Listening to someone else's problems would keep Vulpes from thinking about his own. He could handle that. "About what? Speak freely."

Crispus hesitated. He had never known a Legion commander to care at all about the thoughts of his men. What was happening? "Is it normal to respect a woman?"

Vulpes glanced at the younger man, reminded then that he had been raised under the Bull. "In some cultures, yes. Is there someone who has earned that honor?"

"The Courier."

 _Fuck. It. All._ "The woman currently in our custody? How has she managed that?"

"In Nipton and New Vegas she impressed me," Crispus admitted. "And just now, in the carcer, she struck up a conversation with me. I looked for all of the signs you have taught me, but I could not detect a single motive other than simple politeness."

"What did she speak with you about?" Leave it to Jordan to extend an olive branch when she was the prisoner.

"She asked about her dog, where I came from, and suggested books that I should read. I have never talked like that with a woman before."

Vulpes thought for a moment. Crispus showed promise, not as a Legionary, but as a human being in general. He would hate to see him die at the dam. "There will be women in your life who make you question everything you thought you knew. The important thing is that you pay attention and answer those questions for yourself." Seeing the confusion in the younger man's eyes and knowing he had contradicted everything the recruit had been taught in life, he added, "That piece of advice, of course, does not leave this cliff."

Noticing that the sun was beginning its lazy descent, Vulpes stood and dusted himself off. Caesar was expecting him for dinner and he needed to take care of several things before then, including checking on Jordan and cleaning himself up. The chief warmonger wouldn't appreciate a prisoner's blood at the table.

/

Jordan sat cross-legged on the damp stone and contemplated the various ways she could kill Quintus. Since he had relieved Crispus, he had felt that the best use of his time was to harass and assault her. He had come with a plate of food, but rather than hand it over, the Legionary had thrown the items at her individually. Now the floor around her was littered with food which she refused to touch on principle. She was hungry, but she wasn't desperate.

She could use her chains to choke the life from his dull hazel eyes. Or maybe she would smash his face into the desk and break that hooked nose of his, along with the rest of his bone structure. Even better, perhaps she could steal his machete and remove the hand he'd struck her with.

"Do you know why we put the carcer behind the Brahmin pen? So that no one can hear you scream over their noise. And when you die? We'll dump your body in their trough."

Jordan rolled her eyes. Brahmin didn't touch meat. Nice try, idiot.

Quintus was about to have another go at baiting her when both Vulpes and Crispus returned to the musty little shed. Seeing her two favorite Legionaries, Jordan began to greet them, but was cut off in her attempt.

"Watch your mouth, profligate. Anything you say will only be held against you."

The two Frumentarii could all but see the thought forming in her mind. It started in her eyes, lighting up with equal parts mischief and mirth, before it spread to her lips in a salacious grin. Looking her husband in the eye, she said, "Vulpes Inculta."

Crispus's mouth hung open in a silent laugh while Vulpes's brow shot up in amusement. Quintus was slow to the draw, at first confused, but as he realized the nature of the woman's pun, he was outraged. He rushed around the desk, raising his arm to strike her across the face once more when Vulpes caught his wrist.

"That will be all, Quintus."

The Legionary stared back in embarrassment. The gaze of the head Frumentarius was icy and his posture uncompromising. He was not a man to be challenged and Quintus was reminded of his place. "I-I'm sorry, my Lord." With the release of his hand, he scurried from the carcer.

"Crispus," Vulpes said, "Do make sure that our prisoner gets a proper meal. Without the volleys this time."

When he was out of earshot of the shack, Vulpes paused to lean against the rock face, body shaking with muffled laughter. Whether Jordan had said it for him or as a way to dig under Quintus's skin didn't matter. He needed that laugh.

/

"Are you almost done with that?"

Felina gave the pin one final inspection before nodding. "Yes, my Lord."

"Bring it here."

Caesar waited by the end of his bed. He was back in his usual clothing, finding it more comfortable and distinguished than what he had worn to the scourging. As Felina began to fasten the pin, he appraised her. Why would Inculta not want her? Her wide eyes, ample breasts, and thoughtless loyalty were all he himself wanted in a concubine. Perhaps he would send her to him again after dinner.

"Do you think I should give the Courier to Inculta?" he asked. It had only occurred to him then that it might require someone more cunning than that blasted woman to keep her on a leash.

Felina was quiet for a moment. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for Caesar to ask her opinion on matters. This time, however, it presented an opportunity too delicious to pass up. "Give her to the Legate, my Lord."

"Why?" He was curious to hear her reasoning.

With a bat of her lashes and a tug on his belt, she whispered, "She has hurt you. Make her suffer."

* * *

 _A/N: Shit's getting real around here. O.O_

 _And I know that in-game Vulpes has brown hair, but I'm a total sucker for black hair and blue eyes. I also think that it adds to the list of things that sets him apart from most Wastelanders. I'm considering writing a lengthy author's note at the end of the last chapter or even an additional chapter wherein I discuss my thoughts, motivations, muses, etc. for this story. Is that something you would enjoy reading? Leave me a comment and let me know!_


	27. October 27-28, 2281

Careful what you say and who you say it to  
Baby you talked too much and you were asking for it, asking for it, asking  
You can blame bad luck but you were asking for it, asking for it, asking  
When all is said and done, you need to tie your tongue  
\- Shinedown, "Asking For It"

Vulpes hated sharing meals with Caesar. It wasn't because he could send him to his death with one word or because he pawed at the slaves anytime they were within arm's reach. The man ate like a pig - mouth smacking, grease running down his chin, scraps in his teeth. It was disgusting.

"Inculta, I have to commend you on a job well done today. I was informed there would be no long-term muscle damage."

Vulpes kept his eyes trained on his own plate. If he didn't look, he wouldn't cringe or stare. "Thank you, my Lord."

The words tasted like deathclaw shit in his mouth. _Thanks for making me mutilate my wife! I had a terrible time!_ he thought. Vulpes was already in a strained mood when he had arrived at the tent. With Felina's unrelenting gaze and Caesar's eating habits, his mood had been in a steady decline as the evening progressed. Now he was resisting the urge to push his Brahmin steak around his plate like a petulant child.

"You looked like a ringmaster, taming the yao guai."

 _Spousal abuse. One out of five stars. Would not recommend._

"It's a shame Lanius will probably just kill her."

"My Lord?" Vulpes felt his heart seize before trying to eject itself through his throat.

"Initially I thought I would keep the Courier as my own slave – before she betrayed us, of course. Felina has not graced me with a son, so I thought the she might catch better. After news of her betrayal reached me, however, I wanted her crucified and put on display outside the walls of New Vegas." He shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. "But I have decided that death would be too kind. I did consider handing her off to you, given your own cunning and penchant for teaching lessons."

Vulpes paused in his carrot-skewering. It was everything he had in him to maintain an air of professional indifference as his commander rambled on.

"Felina was so kind to remind me of the pain and embarrassment that the Courier has caused me personally. So it's settled. Tomorrow I will present her to the Legate. He can do with her as he wishes."

There was a brief moment where Vulpes envisioned ramming his fork through Caesar's eye while gutting him with his steak knife. Seeing his wife passed off to anyone like common chattel was enough to turn his vision red, but Lanius? His name didn't mean "Butcher" by accident. Vulpes had been inside the man's tent once. A pile of bodies sat decomposing in one corner and fresh blood dripped from the conference table. While they stood there conversing, Lanius had killed a girl because she wouldn't stop crying – never mind that her eyes had been clipped from her skull hours before with no anesthetics. He was notorious, too, for going through slaves, most never lasting more than a few weeks. There was no way Vulpes could allow Jordan to fall into the Legate's hands.

"My Lord, are you sure that is the most effective route?" He set his utensils down and folded his hands in his lap. Much less likely to commit instantaneous murder that way. "It would be my honor to break her. You could parade her as an example to anyone who stands against us." _Us. Such an ugly word._

"Do you question my judgement?"

 _I do now._ "No, my Lord. I only want what will bring you greater glory."

"Then she goes to Lanius. If she survives long enough to bear him sons, so be it. But I suspect she'll end up in his 'trash pile' well before then." Caesar wiped his mouth, at last done gorging himself. "You are welcome to take Felina with you this evening."

"No, thank you, my Lord. It has been a long day and I wish only to rest."

"What better way to do that than between a slave girl's legs?" Caesar laughed.

Vulpes gave his most convincing, fatigued smile and declined again as they stood from the table. He had a long night ahead of him and did not need that harlot slowing him down.

/

Only 30 more minutes.

Vulpes had sat in his tent pouring over maps and schedules for hours. At midnight the carcer was locked up and left until early morning. By 1.a.m. the evening guards had gone to sleep and only a handful of Legionaries were left to keep watch of the Fort overnight. At 6 a.m. the day started and activity around camp began to pick back up.

Seeing the clock inch closer to 2 a.m., Vulpes checked himself over again. He had chosen his grimiest set of armor so that nothing would have a reflective sheen. A black combat knife had been dug up from the bottom of his footlocker and now sat snug at his hip. Extinguishing the lantern on his desk, he counted down the final minutes.

Moving as silently as he could while keeping his regular gait, Vulpes made his way through camp. It took no more than a minute to reach the gap in the metal barricades above the Brahmin pen where the wall below didn't quite rise to meet the one above. Shuffling around the end, Vulpes caught a small movement from the corner of his eye and was greeted by the open stare of the little shepherd slave, Melody. She stood below, amongst her sleeping charges, and watched him with a most curious expression. He paused long enough to bring a finger to his lips, throwing in a wink and a smile for good measure. He knew the others did not treat her well. A brief show of kindness might cement her compliance.

Another quick shuffle and Vulpes had deposited himself behind the carcer. Retrieving the keys from the string around his neck, he slipped into the hut. Jordan lie asleep on the floor, her bandaged back exposed to the cool night air. With Siri only being allowed the use of healing powder and stitches, Jordan would be unable to move well or defend herself, but he had an idea.

A profligate's personal items were often burned or sold upon capture, but Jordan's pack had remained in the floor safe under the desk, forgotten about in the day's rush. Springing it free, Vulpes began to comb through its contents. Halfway down the main compartment, he found the rebreather, still in working condition despite having been squashed under two boxes of .45 hollow point rounds and a Saturnite power fist. Working his way through the exterior compartments, he found his prize on the third try. A large pouch held a tin that was packed to capacity with stimpacks.

Setting the container aside, he rummaged through the desk. Jordan's boots, belt, and bra had been tucked away in the bottom drawer. With everything laid out and ready to go, Vulpes kneeled beside her to unlock her chains.

"Rett, wake up."

"Rett."

Jordan began to stir, confusion furrowing her brow. "What time is it?"

"Just after two in the morning. Sit up. I have to take your bandages off."

She braced herself on his arms as she wiggled into an upright position. Her back was shrieking at her and she was almost certain she had just reopened some of the sutures. "What's going on?"

"This is going to hurt." Vulpes had moved behind her, ripping her bandages away and taking her breath with it.

Jordan felt the first pinch of a stimpack and almost yelped. "You're starting to freak me out. What is going on?"

"Caesar is giving you to Lanius tomorrow. I have to get you out of here."

Three more pinches and she was almost numb in shock. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Pressing the dressing back into place, Vulpes pulled her to her feet before handing over her bra. It almost made her pout, the way he gave it to her without teasing or making a lewd comment like he usually did. Moving as quickly as tenderness would allow, Jordan worked her clothes back on.

"Are you…"

Vulpes glanced up at her from where he was tying her boots. "Choosing you over the Legion? Yes. Now hurry."

When he moved to stuff her stimpack case back into her bag, she voiced her confusion. She knew why people outside the Legion feared the "Monster of the East," but she hadn't known that those inside it had their own reasons for unease.

"He will gouge out your eyes, break your bones, and rape you until you die from internal bleeding," Vulpes hissed.

Oh.

He shoved the rebreather into her hands. "I'm taking you to a cave that opens under Lake Mead. Don't stop moving until you get to Raul's."

"Okay," she nodded. "But can I have my gun?"

He felt like an idiot. Of course she was going to need a weapon. Reaching around the side of her pack, Vulpes unlatched the holster before fishing the .45 out and helping attach it to her thigh. With one last glance to ensure nothing incriminating was left behind, the pair began their steady trek across the jagged slopes of Fortification Hill.

Twenty minutes later they were rounding a bend in the cliffs when Vulpes motioned for Jordan to stop. A few feet ahead, he cleared away an indistinctive pile of rocks and debris before motioning her forward. Standing beside what appeared to be a steep descent into nothingness, he settled his hands at the sides of her neck. "Don't stop moving, okay? I'll come for you as soon as I can."

"How sweet."

A figure emerged from the darkness of the path behind them and he felt his adrenaline surge. Vulpes had been careful, so very careful to make sure they weren't being followed or making any noise, but he knew who it was. Only one person in camp would be brazen enough and it wasn't the first time she had snuck out of Caesar's tent in the middle of the night to meet him somewhere. As the shadow grew closer, Jordan scooted around to his side in an attempt to hide herself.

"Why her and not me?" The bitterness in Felina's voice was overpowering and all-encompassing, as though it was all she was made of. "What is it about her that makes everyone lose their minds? She's just an ugly, filthy profligate."

Still Vulpes remained silent. When Jordan shifted behind him, Felina's gaze turned to her. "Do you know that he used to fuck me?" she cackled. "In his bed, on his desk, all over this goddamn camp. Even in Caesar's compound. But once you showed up, he wouldn't even look at me."

 _She has lost her damn mind_ , Vulpes thought.

"I saw you two that night, y'know. In your tent. Why wouldn't you touch me that way?"

Now it all made sense – her threat of knowing too much, why she had become more aggressive, even going so far as to drug him, and why she had pushed for Jordan to be passed off to Lanius. She was jealous and saw the other woman as a threat to her status. "What do you want, Felina?"

She inched forward, drawing closer to his side. "I want _you_. I want to bear your sons. I want the protection that comes with being yours. Make me your wife and I won't tell Caesar about this - about the affair or sneaking her out. He'll never have to find out about your treason." Seizing his hand, she continued, "But if you don't, I'll make sure that you're given a traitor's death and that she stays alive with Lanius. Her cries as he rapes her every night will be music to my ears and when she becomes pregnant? Oh, Fox, I can't tell you how much I will enjoy watching as she begins to hate herself. But I'll never let her die."

"Okay." Jordan surprised him, her soft voice dragging Felina's gaze away. Vulpes jerked his head around to look at her, her eyes telling him everything he needed to know.

"Okay. You win," he said, facing her in time to see her eyes light up. "I'll have you if you let her go and take this to the grave with you."

Felina smiled, her threadbare sanity wobbling on the edge. Holding onto his arm, she stood on her tiptoes and took a deliberate, taunting look at the other woman before tracing the outline of his jaw. Jordan could feel her stomach roll as Vulpes settled his hand at the girl's waist and despite freeing the combat knife from his belt, she thought she was going to lose her dinner when he dipped his head.

Vulpes was inches from Felina's lips when he felt the handle of his blade press into his palm. Wasting no time, he drove the knife under her sternum, slicing through her liver and heart before coming to a rest inside an artery. Pain and bewilderment contorted her face and her lip began to tremble.

"She _is_ my wife. You never had a chance," he whispered.

He pulled back to study her. Vulpes wanted to see the hatred in her eyes when he gave the knife a hard turn and yanked it free. With blood beginning to spill from her mouth, he dropped her without ceremony into the dirt. He didn't want her soiling his uniform, and following that thought, he stooped to wipe the blade on her slave's rags.

"What are we going to do with her?" Jordan asked.

There was no question in his mind. If they left her body there on the side of the hill, the smell would attract attention. If they tossed her over the side, someone would spot her. "Throw her down the shaft."

Jordan nodded and stepped aside. She knew she wouldn't be able to help him drag a body in her current state and he appeared to do just fine without her anyway. With a shove, the gaping void swallowed the girl's body in a way that made her shudder. She hoped it wouldn't get stuck on the way down.

Vulpes checked their surroundings for more surprises and was relieved to find none. When he turned again to Jordan, he was forced to choke down a laugh. She stood, contorting her body in an attempt to put on the rebreather without stretching her back.

"Here, let me help you."

"Am I ugly?" she asked, studying him while he messed with the straps.

He chuckled, settling the mask into place and checking the seal. "That's what you got out of that?" She shrugged in response. "No, you are not ugly. I have killed more profligates than you know about for the things they've wanted to do to you – things only _I_ should be doing."

Her eyes crinkled and Vulpes could tell she was smiling behind the rubber mouthpiece. He smirked before sighing and embracing her. It was passed time for her to go. "Be safe," he whispered, lips brushing against her temple. "I love you."

It came through the mask garbled, but Jordan had returned the sentiment. Vulpes watched as she disappeared from view, dragging her pack behind her, and wondered if it would be the last time he ever saw her.

/

"Ah fuck!"

Jordan had felt her way through the dark of the tunnel until water began lapping at her boots. Deciding it was safe to have some light, she had flicked on her PipBoy screen only to be met with the dead stare of the slave girl. Water filled the last few feet of the shaft and it was where she had stopped, now blocking Jordan's way. Grumbling, she realized she would have to push the girl down the last few feet so that her body could float free in the cave.

Placing her hands on Felina's lifeless shoulders, she began to waddle forward, shoving her downward as she went. The corpse's natural buoyancy fought back, and after catching on several jagged protrusions, gave way. With the girl no longer blocking her path, Jordan grabbed her rucksack and ducked into the water, propelling herself face first into a cloud of blood.

"Damn it," she hissed. Her mouth and nose were protected, but the idea of having someone else's bodily fluids ghosting over the surface of her eyes was unsettling.

Cresting the surface of the water, Jordan took in her surroundings. Moonlight drifted down through the openings in the cave's ceiling, illuminating the water and providing the walls with a slimy, eerie glow. A bevy of stalactites dotted the space and across the way she could make out what appeared to be the mouth of another tunnel. She was still adjusting to the pull of her waterlogged pack, but if she could grasp onto the rock formations while she crossed the cavern, it would lighten her struggle.

Pushing herself from one structure to another, Jordan worked her way across the cave, her pack becoming easier to manage as she went. Before diving for the exit to Lake Mead, she paused to look back. The floating corpse trailed after her, but she was otherwise alone. Giving a silent plea to whoever might be listening that Vulpes was safe, she plunged towards her freedom.

* * *

 _A/N: This would have been posted hours ago if not for my decision to change the opening lyric. I originally had an entirely different song slated for this chapter, but "Asking For It" is way more fitting - I just couldn't decide on which part! Uuugggghhh. Damn my perfectionist tendencies._

 _Anyway, Felina's dead and Vulpes is jumping ship. YAAASSSSS._


	28. October 28-30, 2281

Oh my Lord, take my soul  
Lay me at the bottom of the river  
The devil has come to carry me home  
Lay me at the bottom of the river  
\- Blues Saraceno, "The River"

"Mija?"

Jordan stumbled through the door of the decrepit hut and dumped her pack. The Legion was looking for her now. She had been able to hear the commotion at the Fort from Calville Bay and had spent the last hour in a hard run, slowing only to avoid unwanted attention from the Gypsum Train Yard. She didn't know how long Vulpes could stall Caesar's troops or if he could at all.

"Mija, are you okay?"

"Lock…lock the door," she wheezed. Running had never been her strong suit.

When Raul returned to her again, Jordan had sprawled out on the floor of his home, still heaving and flushed. "Why were you running?"

"Legion."

"Did you lead them here?"

"What?" A wave of her hand. "No." She winced as she sat up. "I was just doing some…preemptive hiding."

"Boss."

"Yeah?"

"You're bleeding on my floor."

Jordan turned to survey the metal patchwork behind her. She had tried to run with her pack attached to her front, but it jostled too much and every time it bounced across her thighs, it just made her angry. After a short distance, she had given up on the idea and made a go at running like a normal person. Sure enough, though, it had rubbed too hard against the fragile skin of her back and even reopened a few gashes that hadn't finished closing with the stimpacks.

She sighed. "Give me a hand?"

Raul gestured to his work bench while grabbing his First Aid kit. Jordan perched herself on the stool and upon seeing a bottle of rotgut stashed away in her friend's medical supplies, she smiled. "Is that for me or you?"

He swatted her hand away. "Me."

Jordan groaned when he began to peel away her shirt. Her pack had rubbed the bandaging down, and now the clotting blood and puckered skin did not want to relinquish her top. The ruck had done more damage than she realized.

"What happened to you, boss?"

Jordan faltered a beat. "Do you remember when I asked you about loving someone you shouldn't?"

She could feel the stutter in his motions, a subtle manifestation of his opinion on her decision making skills. "This gringo turn out to be Legion?"

"Long story short? I was married once."

Another brief hestitation. "And now?"

"The guy on the posters just betrayed Caesar to save my life."

"You call this saving your life, boss? You got a funny way of looking at things." A few snips and pinches, then, "Sit up straight. I don't want your back to look like my face when I'm done."

"There wasn't any way around this." She flinched. "Caesar was going to give me to the Legate today."

"Is that bad?"

She blew out a breath. "Vulpes said he would 'gouge out your eyes, break your bones, and rape you until you die from internal bleeding.'" Those weren't easy words to forget.

Raul clucked his tongue. "He must really love you, mija. If he gets caught-"

"I know."

Jordan could feel her anxiety mounting as the ghoul continued sewing her skin back together in silence. She couldn't stomach the idea of what would happen if their high stakes poker game didn't go exactly as planned.

"Can I stay here for a day or two? To rest?"

Raul snipped the last thread and administered a final stimpack before reaching for the gauze. "Sure, boss. Should I expect any other visitors?"

"Vulpes."

The ghoul observed his battered friend, noting the subtle sway of her torso and the brief nods of her head. With her adrenaline gone and the stimpacks already mending large portions of her back, her energy was bottoming out. "Come on, mija. You're done. Get some sleep."

Jordan let him lead her, still shirtless and bra unhooked, over to the mattress. She could take a nap. Naps were good.

/

"Who are you?"

Jordan had been roused from her sleep by the sound of creaking metal and now lay straining to hear Raul's hushed conversation.

"-here for Jordan."

"I don't know who you're talking about."

Sitting up, she called to her friend. "It's Vulpes," she assured while she pulled the blanket up around her front.

"Are you sure?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the door to glance at her. He was met with an expression that was both bored and annoyed. "Fine," he groaned.

When Vulpes brushed into the shack, Jordan felt tension leave her bones. He was safe, in one piece. For now. With quick strides he made his way to her and kneeled. A smile tugged at one corner of his lips as he looked her over, but Jordan could see through his concern that he was exhausted. His skin was almost sallow in appearance and dark circles hugged his eyes.

"Nice work," he complimented Raul. The stitches would be out by evening, though another stimpack or two wouldn't hurt.

"Yeah, yeah."

"What are they saying at the Fort?"

Vulpes shifted his weight to sit beside her. "They think Felina took you and left." He rubbed his face, hoping to wake himself up more. "I sent contubernia towards the outpost and the Divide, but I did have to send some towards Vegas and Bitter Springs to cover our tracks. We'll have to wait until tonight to leave."

"Wait, what time is it?" It was dark out, that much Jordan knew from Vulpes's arrival.

"Five a.m."

"Why are you here now? Shouldn't you still be at the Fort?" Had he made a careless error in his haste to get to her?

Vulpes shook his head. "Caesar is on the warpath. Almost everyone has been mobilized. I told him I was going to use contacts in Freeside to look for you and I left."

/

"I was drunk."

"Every time?"

Cass bit the inside of her cheek. "Uh, yeah. Every time."

"And you don't remember any of it?"

"Nope."

"I don't understand how this is supposed to work if you're going to be blitzed out of your mind half the time." Veronica threw her hands up and sunk back into her chair.

"Half?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe a quarter."

" _Anyway_ , I just don't know how that's supposed to work."

Veronica resisted the urge to roll her eyes again and sat forward. "Honestly, Cass, if the only way you know how to have sex is by letting some guy stick it in you over and over, you're really missing out."

Cass's face turned bright pink. She had not expected the conversation to end up here and it had been a long time since someone accused her of being inexperienced. Now she was left feeling embarrassed. "I know that," she snapped. "Just because I don't remember how sex with a woman works doesn't mean I won't be any good at it."

"Never said you wouldn't be." Taking her girlfriend's hand in hers, and not failing to notice how uncomfortable the gesture made her, Veronica said, "We don't have to rush into it, Cass. And y'know, whenever the time comes, if being a little tipsy helps calm your nerves, I'm fine with that. Just don't be completely drunk, okay?"

Tearing away from the table, Cass stomped her way to the kitchen before returning with a bottle of whiskey. Come hell or high water, she was going to do this and conquer her stupid stage fright. Halfway through a long gulp, however, the elevator dinged in the lobby.

"Guys?" Arcade called. Ahead of him, Rex trotted into the entertainment room and flopped himself at Veronica's feet. "I think we have a problem."

"Damn right we do," Cass griped. There was sex to be had and he was preventing it.

Veronica's eyes narrowed at her before she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Rex came to the Old Mormon Fort today."

"Okay?" Why was that news? He was there all the time.

"Jordan wasn't with him."

Cass slammed her bottle down on the table. "Goddamnit."

/

 _What is that? Mantis?_ Jordan wondered.

The smell was heavy in the air, coaxing her from her sleep. Groaning, she began to stretch, but was stopped by the tightening of an arm around her waist. She smiled when Vulpes began to bury his face in her hair and shuffled about until she could see him.

"Hey," she whispered. He grunted in return. "We should get up."

One eye slid open, followed by the other. "Why?"

"Because Raul is cooking. And," she flipped through screens on her PipBoy, "It's almost ten at night."

Vulpes groaned. She was right, but he was so comfortable there on the floor of the ghoul's shack. "How's your back?"

Jordan wiggled until she lay flat on her stomach. All of the wounds had closed, but large swaths of skin remained inflamed. Long, thin scars would form a network across her back for the rest of her life. "I think the stitches can come out," she murmured.

Lifting himself from the mattress, Vulpes retrieved her shirt. The blood caked into the fabric left it stiff and scratchy against her skin. She would need to find something else to wear before they left. Helping her rise from the floor, he settled her onto a nearby stool and went to work on her back.

Jordan surveyed the workbench beside her, ignoring the sensation of thread being tugged loose from her skin. All of her gear had been cleaned, repaired, and was left out for her to pack away in her now-dry ruck. She smiled to herself. For all of the hell that Raul gave her, he always made sure she was taken care of.

"Where did you learn to stitch like this?" Vulpes inquired when the ghoul brought dinner over. Siri's needlework had always left something to be desired.

"I know it may not look like it, boss, but I have put myself back together a few times." He set the plates down. "You two should eat."

Jordan thanked him and dug in while Vulpes finished his work. "Raul," he began some time later, "Do you have any clothes that she could borrow? The Legion has a record of everything she had with her at the Fort."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, sure." Rifling through a crate by the door, he returned holding a pale blue jumpsuit with "RobCo" emblazoned across the back.

After seeing it laid atop her guns on the table, Jordan screwed her face up. "Are jumpsuits all you ever wear?"

He scowled at her. "Your powers of observation never cease to amaze, boss."

Her lip curled when Vulpes snickered in amusement. Legion doctrine be damned, he liked the old ghoul. His cynicism and snark countered Jordan's intellect and optimism in ways that were entertaining to watch.

Setting her plate aside, she turned to him. "Could you help me with my bra? I'm too sore and stiff to do it myself."

It was no small task for Vulpes to rehook the eyes of her undergarment, his mind dallying in all the ways he would rather be helping her. For a bright, shining moment he resented their present company as well as his own immeasurable self-control. _Damn it all_.

Another hour and a half passed before Jordan was ready to go. She had insisted on repacking her ruck and getting dressed on her own, resulting in slow, tender movements punctuated by the occasional hiss. When she stood from tying her last boot, Vulpes fetched a roll of cloth from an interior pocket of his mercenary's jacket.

"Here," he said, handing it over. "Keep your hair tucked under it."

Jordan unfurled the material to find a dusty stormchaser hat and worn face wrap. _Oh joy_. She already thought she looked ridiculous in Raul's too-large jumpsuit, having been forced to roll the sleeves and blouse the trousers to make it fit. She felt like a child playing dress-up in her father's clothes and now she was donning one of those hideous hats she saw so often in the wastes. She'd blend in, that was for certain.

With Vulpes shouldering her pack, Jordan was left with nothing but a nondescript hunting rifle that she had left at Raul's once before. It left her feeling naked and vulnerable, and it bothered her to know that she would have to rely heavily on Vulpes for her protection. Her trust in him was absolute, but her pride and independence gnawed at her.

As they made for the door, she paused. "Are you sure you don't want to go with us?"

Raul's smile was at once sardonic and weary. "Sorry, boss, but as much as I'd like to risk getting killed by your side, you already have some help."

Jordan smirked and pulled him into a hug. Not being one for displays of affection, he was caught off-guard and slow to reciprocate. "Thank you," she whispered. "For taking care of me and fixing my stuff."

Raul extracted himself from her arms and gripped the back of his neck. "Sure thing, boss." Before he shut the door behind them, he turned his attention to Vulpes. "You take care of her."

/

A smirk played at the corners of his lips and Vulpes found himself in a much more relaxed stride than usual. He had gotten Jordan to the basement of the Lucky 38 sometime before 2 a.m. without being recognized, attacked, or otherwise stopped along their route. The guilt of what he had been forced to do to her at the Fort was ever-present, but at her prodding, they had enjoyed a morning session of fervent and single-minded lovemaking. He'd left her to rest afterwards while he "hunted" for her in Freeside. All things considered, the last 24 hours were going better than anticipated.

It was all about keeping up appearances now. Alerio was not the only Frumentarius in the area, but his ability to keep tabs on what was happening around him was second to none. So talented was he that Vulpes had always intended for the younger Legionary to take over him some day, though he knew it would doubtless end in his own death. It was how one advanced through their ranks and something he was no stranger to himself.

Knowing that Alerio would be watching from some darkened alley and reporting back to the Fort, Vulpes had come into Freeside through the sewers, popping up in a forgotten corner near Fremont Street. Breezing into the Atomic Wrangler, he made his way through the haze to a stool at the bar beside an older gentleman.

The man's baritone voice came drawling out through wafts of cigarette smoke. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Gotta travel if you're gonna stay in sales," Vulpes replied with the slurred and hasty accent of The Hub. "Say, I'm looking for someone."

Old Ben laughed and flicked his cigarette. It was always something with this kid. "Who is it this time?"

"That Courier girl. Seen her 'round? Got a tip she might be interested in some mods."

"No." Another flick. "I haven't see her. Last I heard she was doing some work out in Westside, but that's been a while."

A monotonous thudding from behind the slot machines caught Vulpes's attention. "What the hell is that?" he gawked.

"That's Fisto," Ben explained under the robotic sex commands drifting through the bar. Taking another drag, he leaned in. "James swears it's for the customers, but he stores it in his room every night."

Vulpes didn't bother trying to hide his abhorrence. "Right, ah, well, thanks. I'm gonna go now."

He could hear Old Ben chuckle as he removed himself from the casino with haste. Stepping into the cool air outside, he shuddered. The Garrets were a peculiar duo on their best days, but that was too much. Why on earth would James want inflexible steel when there was warm, pliable flesh all around? He didn't understand it, nor did he have the desire to.

He had passed through the gate into outer Freeside and was heading towards the Old Mormon Fort when he felt a bullet zip past his ear. Eyes snapping in the direction from whence it came, he could make out the figure of Boone, rifle in hand, propped against a rusted dumpster by the northern gate. Knowing that his opportunity for restitution had arrived, Vulpes ripped his suit jacket from his back.

Boone, seeing that he had gotten the Legionary's attention, slung his rifle over his shoulder and dashed to the gate behind him. Vulpes gave chase, throwing his jacket at the crier from Mick & Ralph's as he took off down the street, the gate already swinging closed as he crossed the intersection. Passing the the fort, a rat scurried across his path, and Vulpes was forced to shove his way through the children following close behind it. The stares and comments of street vendors and Kings alike were ignored.

When Vulpes breached the gate, he slowed to a stop. The area was empty, save for a group of Kings loitering under the remnants of a shack. "Where did he go?" he barked.

"I don't know, man."

He crept forward, making his way into the wastes, and pulled a combat knife from his belt. "Boone!" he bellowed.

Silence.

"I made you a promise!"

There, some hundred or more yards away, Vulpes caught the glint of a scope from atop a mound of earth and felt the familiar sting of a bullet tearing through his flesh. "Futuo!" he hissed. It had passed through the outer portion of his thigh, leaving a clean hole in its wake. He would be fine, but it would slow him down and limit his ability to attack. _Bastard_. Still he advanced, wanting to get away from the do-gooders who might interfere.

As he neared a junction of pavement, Boone abandoned his rifle and tore down the meager hill at full tilt, his own knife in hand. When he was almost on top of the Legionary, he swung out wildly, prompting Vulpes to lean back and smack his arm away. Shuffling around, he watched Boone recover and move to attack again. Before he could, Vulpes lashed out, slicing through his arm and catching his cheek on the rebound.

Boone crumpled backward, grabbing at his face as he stumbled into the dirt. Vulpes limped a few paces away and prepared himself, knowing the sniper wasn't ready for the fight to end. Regaining his footing, Boone began to advance. When he drew near enough, a fistful of dirt was flung into Vulpes's eyes, causing him to roar in pain and lurch back.

Though he continued to slash through the air, Boone landed a cut on the back of his hand, forcing the Legionary to withdraw further. When he had blinked the dirt from his eyes, Vulpes found himself narrowly dodging another overzealous swing. Grabbing the sniper's arm on the follow-through, he slashed into his thigh and shoved him back.

With a snarl, Boone lunged forward, knife raised too high. His wrist was caught above his head, Vulpes digging his thumb into the nerves and forcing him to drop his knife. Relaxing the tension of their arms, the Legionary swiped at Boone's stomach, slicing into the outer muscle wall and eliciting a cry from him as he floundered back.

Using the sniper's pain to his advantage, Vulpes tackled him to the ground. Though he was pinned, Boone threw a punch and was rewarded with the sickening crunch of the Legionary's nose under his fist. A scream of agony escaped through clenched teeth when he was repaid with a blade being forced through his ribs, puncturing his lung.

Boone began to wheeze. "You don't deserve her."

Vulpes nodded, feeling sweat trickle down his face. "Neither do you."

A bitter laugh escaped the sniper as the knife was withdrawn and pressed to his throat. "Do you think I'll find peace?"

"I don't know if men like us ever will."

He inclined his head. Vulpes could see that he was done, the desire to continue the fight having left him. The sniper's eyes wandered for a moment, taking in the empty blue skies and sway of the grass in the breeze. When his gaze came to rest on the Legionary, it was accompanied by the slightest of nods. With a smooth pull of the wrist, Boone's life seeped onto the pavement below.

Vulpes shuffled off of him and wiped his blade, his breath heavy as blood cascaded over his lips. It was done. He hoped Jordan would forgive him.

* * *

 _A/N: o_o_

 _See you next weekend._


	29. October 30, 2281

Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in  
In my head, in my heart, in my soul  
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both live again  
Well, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, don't think so  
\- Modest Mouse, "Ocean Breathes Salty"

Jordan pulled the blanket around her a little tighter, and to the outside world she might have looked altogether lost within the pages of _The Old Man and the Sea_. It had been too long since she had been able to enjoy a quiet moment such as that and escape to someone else's world with someone else's problems. Santiago's struggle against defeat both fascinated and inspired her, and she couldn't remember if she had moved from the couch at all in the last two hours.

"Jordan! Where is your first aid kit?" Arcade's voice came from the entryway landing.

"Kitchen," she shouted as Rex jumped down from his place at her feet and began to trot away. "Why?"

Receiving no response, she threw the blanket back and headed downstairs, not bothering to dress. Everyone who lived at the 38 with her had seen her in her skivvies at various points, the doctor included. Coming into view of the kitchen, she tried again, "Hey, what's going-"

Her voice died in her throat. Arcade was rushing about, laying out medical supplies on the dinner table while Rex pranced underfoot, but it was Vulpes, reclining at the far end, who caught her attention. Covered in grime with blood caked on his face, his eyes were screwed shut in prideful contempt.

It was as Arcade began to cut the leg from Vulpes's pants that he noticed her. "Jordan, get a wet washcloth and a bottle of whiskey."

She nodded, grabbing the items and rushing them to the table. As Arcade wiped dirt from his patient's leg, he dumped half of the liquor onto the gunshot wound, eliciting a stifled groan. Not wasting time with stitches, he injected the wound with a stimpack and bandaged it before moving on to the gash on the back of Vulpes's hand.

Jordan took a moment to further assess the damages. Noting the dust and smudges around his eyes, she asked, "Have dirt thrown at you?"

Vulpes indicated that he had and waited in silence when she walked away, the feeling of Rex's head resting on his lap bringing an unusual comfort to him in her absence. Jordan returned a minute later with a clean washcloth, a pitcher of water, and a large pot. Sitting still as a stone, he waited while Arcade worked on his hand and Jordan wiped the dirt from his face, taking care to be gentle around his swollen nose. Hearing a tender whisper, he opened his eyes.

"Good, now keep them that way."

Vulpes struggled to do as she requested when the water began to flow over his eyes and he remembered the way she had squirmed in a similar circumstance all those months ago outside Jacobstown.

"I know most of it was probably gone, but I can't have those gorgeous eyes falling apart on me," she teased when she was done, retrieving the pot from the floor behind him. Dumping it in the sink, she returned to run her fingers through his hair.

"Your nose is most likely broken," Arcade announced after prodding his face and turning it about. "I could set it and it will be fine in a few weeks."

"Or?" Vulpes questioned.

"Or I could give you a stimpack and it'll be fine in a few days."

He didn't hesitate. "Stimpack." If he was going to abandon the Legion, he might as well go all the way.

"Are you sure?" Arcade was almost unbelieving. "It will be incredibly painful and you won't be able to move your face at all while the needle is in."

"I'll be fine, Dr. Gannon."

He sighed. Military men were always convinced of their own toughness. "Will you hold his head?"

Jordan complied and cringed to herself as he reset the bone. She had never minded doling out damage or even taking it, but she sometimes recoiled in the aftermath.

When the needle was prepared, Arcade paused. "Last chance."

Vulpes glared. "Just do it."

"I apologize in advance then."

Jordan offered her hand, but it was batted away in disdain. "I've hurt you enough for one week."

Clutching the table and gritting his teeth, Vulpes was unable to stop the shrill growl of pain that slipped from his lips when the needle sunk in. He could feel the pressure building from the rush of fluids, compounding the agony he was already in. Even after the stimpack had been removed, the torment continued.

"Can you make it back upstairs?"

Vulpes nodded and rose gingerly to his feet. A set of pills were shoved into his hand and he took them without reluctance before beginning his hobbled trek. It took him longer than he would ever care to admit to climb the stairs, but his reward was a short distance remaining to the bed. Once he was settled, Jordan began to get dressed, slipping into a pair of men's pajama bottoms. It was while she was rummaging for a fresh t-shirt that Arcade glimpsed her back.

"What happened to you?" he exclaimed.

Finding the shirt she wanted, she snickered. "We decided to get matching scars."

Arcade rounded on Vulpes. "This is what you meant by 'hurt you enough for one week'?"

"I had no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"Not this time," Jordan chimed in.

Understanding dawned in his features. "Did-did Caesar make you do this?"

"We have a winner," Vulpes sassed, closing his eyes in annoyance.

Arcade was stunned into near silence. "That…that's so fucked up," he said. "Does he know that you're married?"

Jordan threw him an unamused glance. "What do you think?"

"Right, of course. That was silly of me." He paused in his pacing. "What happened to you then? I thought you were dead when I found you in the elevator."

"I was napping," Vulpes retorted. That was only partially true. It had taken more than an hour to drag himself back through the sewers. By the time he had reached the elevator in the basement of the Lucky 38, he was exhausted. Slumping to the floor, his eyes had only been closed for a moment when the car stopped at the casino level and the doors slid open. Arcade had sworn, griping to himself about his Hippocratic Oath before mumbling something about "Shakespearean love stories" and "she'd pistol whip me."

Reaching for Jordan, he beckoned her to sit with him. Vulpes knew she had never harbored romantic feelings for Boone, but what he was about to unload on her would hurt regardless. With her perched on the edge of the bed, leg resting against his hip, he took her hand and entwined their fingers. "Do you remember the last time that I visited you here and the promise that I made?"

Jordan's mind raced for a moment before landing on the correct memory. "Yes."

"He found me today."

Her eyes were downcast, but Vulpes could see the disappointment creeping into the edges of her face. She took a shaky breath and squeezed his hand, delaying the moment when she would have to look at him. "Where is he?"

"Outside of the north gate."

A small nod and Jordan was striding towards one of the nearby securitrons. Straining to hear what his friend was saying, Arcade looked on with knitted brow.

"Could you send a bot to retrieve the body of Craig Boone from outside the north gate? Please take him to the NCR embassy. I think his parents would like to have him home." She began to step away, suppressing a sniffle and giving a furtive wipe of her eyes, when she remembered another request. "Could you also send for Veronica and Cass?"

The robot agreed and its screen rolled, a presumed side effect of sending out commands. Padding back to the bed, Jordan took Vulpes's hand once more. She was quiet for a time, worrying her lip before at last asking, "Did he say anything?"

He looked askance. It had been the first, and with any luck the last, time someone had asked him a question like that before he killed them. "He asked me if he would find peace."

Jordan's face wrinkled in confusion. Anyone who came within five feet of Boone knew about his obsessive hatred for Legionaries. Why would he ask such a personal and philosophical question of one?

"I believe he was high."

"Did you do something to Boone?" Arcade cut in, eyes hollowed in concern. They had never been close friends, but he didn't wish any harm on the man.

"We'll wait so he only has to explain it once."

Vulpes was grateful. He had no problems taking a life, but rehashing the details over and over grew tiresome in a hurry.

/

"Hey, stop!" Veronica giggled, slapping at Cass's hands as they stepped into the elevator. "What do you think we're being summoned for?"

Her girlfriend's laughter died out. "I don't know," she said as she leaned against the wall. "Maybe Jordan finally came to her senses about Fox-Vulpes-whatever."

"Cass."

"What? I can hope." She had not been as accepting of the Legionary as Veronica had been. Even though she could see how happy he made her friend, and even though she had long since concluded that Boone was not the guy for Jordan, she still did not like or trust him. Vulpes was, after all, third in command of the entire Legion. A person didn't climb that high without having a black heart and self-serving interests. That he was also the only person in the entire group that Veronica allowed to give her a nickname didn't help in Cass's mind.

"You should give him a chance."

"Why? So I can wake up on a cross the next day? No thanks."

Veronica sighed. She had been wary and disheartened by the revelation of who Fox really was, but after thinking it over, she had decided it didn't matter. There had been more opportunities than she could count for him to sabotage or kill them, but he hadn't. She had seen Jordan's back that morning, too, when they had come down to the suite to shower. He might have been the one to hurt her, but he got her out at the first chance. He became a traitor for her. If that didn't scream, "I love this woman," then Veronica didn't know what did.

When the elevator doors slid open, the pair was greeted by a pensive Jordan. She ushered them in, bringing them to her bedroom where Arcade had paced without ceasing for the last quarter of an hour and Vulpes had sat wishing he would stop. Veronica grimaced at the sight of him, his face bruised, clothes bloodied, and pant leg cut away. If it had not been for the glower on his face, she might have thought he looked pitiful. She noticed, too, that Rex had curled up on the bed next to him, his head resting against the man's side. She looked to her girlfriend, eyes screaming, "See! Even the dog likes him!"

Sitting on the edge of the mattress beside him, Jordan suggested, "Start from the last time."

Vulpes recounted everything and spared nothing. If they were going to hate him, he reasoned, he would prefer if it were based on facts and not whatever presumptions had Cass keeping herself as far from him as she could.

"Are you okay?" Veronica blurted. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Jordan rubbed her face. "One, yes, I am fine. Two, Boone was ill. I didn't want for you to think any less of him than you might already have. And he didn't deserve to have me spreading his problems around for everyone to see."

Arcade ran a hand through his hair and attempted to shake the disgust away. There was nothing anyone could have done to save Boone from himself. Dying, as unkind a thought as it was, was likely the best thing that could have happened to him. He was free now, and if one were so inclined to such beliefs, he was with Carla and their unborn child again.

"Are _you_ okay?" Veronica asked, turning her attention to Vulpes.

He paused. Aside from Jordan, he wasn't used to having anyone express concern for his well-being. "Perfectly fine."

From across the room, Cass cleared her throat. "So where does that leave us?"

/

The faint drumming of machinery and the squeaking of a lone tire did nothing to rouse Liza's interest. A fresh batch of paperwork had been sent over from Camp Golf to be reviewed and signed by Crocker, which meant that she did the reviewing and told him where to put the ink. It was a thankless and unending job.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

She didn't bother to look up from her task. "Welcome to the NCR embassy, how can I help you?"

"Ma'am."

It was the sound of Private Erwin swearing that broke her furious examination of the forms. The shock that passed through her manifest in a gasp. A securitron loomed in front of her holding the broken body of a First Recon soldier.

"It was requested that the body of Corporal Craig Boone be brought to you for return to California."

Liza's eyes couldn't tear away from the sight in front of her and she felt pinned to her chair. Reading death tolls every week now felt like a distant mockery of an unfathomable reality.

"Here. I'll take him." Pvt. Erwin's arms were outstretched and Liza was almost certain she had passed into an alternate universe. His puckish demeanor had been tucked away and he was now taking Cpl. Boone into his arms as Captain Pappas rushed to help.

"H-how?" Liza stammered.

The robot's screen flickered once, then twice. "Legion."

* * *

 _A/N: I want to warn you that there's two chapters left in our little saga. I'm thinking I'll include my lengthy author's note at the end of the final chapter rather than posting it as a follow-up - just to make sure everyone who wants to gets to read it XD_


	30. November 11-14, 2281

Baby, drop them bones  
Baby, sell that soul  
Heaven, fare thee well  
Somebody gotta, somebody gotta raise a little hell  
\- Dorothy, "Raise Hell"

The window felt cool through his shirt as Vulpes leaned against the glass. He had spent most of the day plotting and planning with Jordan and company, having left only to check in with Alerio. According to the younger Frumentarius, the Courier's trail had gone so cold that rumors were beginning to swirl through the lower rank and file that Mars himself might have plucked her out of the Fort. It was the only explanation that the faithful had. The rest were simply pissed.

"How's your nose?" Jordan asked, strolling over to the bench on which he sat.

For the life of him, he had never understood why Caesar had outlawed the use of medicinal chems. Both the bullet wound in his thigh and the gash on the back of his hand had closed within an hour of treatment. The bruising around his nose had faded and the swelling had diminished within days. The bone was still mending itself, but it was still a vast improvement over the weeks it would have taken without the stimpack. "Better."

"Yeah?" She swirled the whiskey around in her glass, taking a small sip before settling it on the floor.

"Mhmm." He winced at the vibrations passing through his nose. It would be a few more days before he could do that with discomfort. When Jordan moved a moment later to stretch out on the bench, lying her head in his lap as she did, Vulpes turned his gaze to the bookcase across the floor from them. He had something important he wanted to talk over with her, but she made it difficult for him focus. "I have never paid attention to how many books House left behind. It seems you inherited a library."

"Most of those are mine, actually." It was true. House had left a small collection behind, but Jordan had finished filling the shelves with her own books. They now sat packed, with some volumes lying across the tops of others from lack of space.

Vulpes laughed, his eyes settling on her once more. "That was something your parents never could understand."

"What?"

"How you could be so studious, always lost in your books, but come nighttime, you would steal a bottle of wine and sneak out to the barn with me."

"That was entirely your fault."

"How?"

"If you hadn't been such a good kisser, I would've stayed home." Her grin was every bit as mischievous as it had been all those years ago.

He chuckled, his fingers sinking into the hair tumbling across his lap. "I couldn't help myself. A beauty a like that should be kissed often and with abandon."

"Oh! And he flirts!" she giggled.

Vulpes allowed himself a small smile as he studied her. Thumb running along the edge of her jaw, he said, "There is something we need to discuss."

Noting the seriousness in his expression, Jordan wasted no time in sitting up, swiveling about to face him. "What's on your mind?"

He stole a drink of her whiskey before trying his hand at what he had to say. It was more difficult than he anticipated, the Legion having no such customs on which he could rely. "I have some things to ask of you should something happen to me in the days ahead." Jordan threw a leg across his lap as she scooted closer to him. "If I am captured, I do not want you to come for me. Let me bear whatever punishment is decided. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you in an attempt to save me."

She was quiet for a moment, her discriminating stare inspecting every line in his face. "Anything else?"

He nodded. "If I die, I want you to move on. I don't want you to revert back to the aloof and guarded woman I met in Nipton. Find someone worth your love and be happy."

Vulpes was surprised when her hand cupped his cheek, a somber but peaceful smile on her lips. He could see in her eyes that she had not been fond of his requests.

"You silly man," she whispered. "We have contingency plans for that. You're not getting away from me so easily."

/

"Hold this."

Jordan took the knife, her eyes never leaving the hallway ahead of her. "Do we have plans for tonight?"

"Um, no? Kinda feeling like we should stay home after this."

"Fair enough. How much longer you going to be?"

"Just a second." Veronica grit her teeth. The wires behind this pre-war door switch were a bit stiffer than she had anticipated. "And there. We are good to go. Are you sure you want to do this part first?"

Jordan nodded. Vulpes had disclosed the Omertas' plan for the Strip to them during all of their planning the day before. That morning he had drawn a map of the sewers from memory, highlighting the best paths to and from Gomorrah. Their chosen route had dumped them out near the weapons cache. "Yep. If we leave it, they may come after us with it."

Sliding the switch panel back into place, Veronica beamed. "Okay, mind the explosion!"

With a punch of her hand, a rush of heat passed through the cracks of the maintenance door accompanied by the hissing of flying sparks. Vulpes had been surprised by Jordan's small stockpile of thermite, but she had always known it would come in handy. That she was able to use it against the Omertas was a plus. From the first time she had set foot in their casino, they had treated her like she was deaf, flinging around vulgar comments about her body with every other breath.

Strolling out of the maintenance hallway and heading for the business offices, Veronica accepted her knife back. "How long do you think we have before shit hits the fan?"

Jordan shrugged. "Eh, maybe a couple of days. Three at the most."

"Do you really think we'll need all of those backup plans?"

"All of them? No. But we will need at least one." She knew the plans themselves were useless – it was the ideas behind them that were indispensable.

"Your pragmatism freaks me out sometimes."

Jordan paused halfway through the Brimstone Lounge and grinned. "Thank you. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Veronica let out a chuckle, continuing on her way as her friend caught up. Nearing the bouncer for the upper level, Jordan casually produced the black card Vulpes had given her and continued on her way, ignoring the man's annoyed protestations. As the pair wound their way through the corridor and into the Zoara Club, the redhead passed her friend a frag grenade. Approaching the offices, Jordan nodded to her friend.

Opening the doors in tandem, Veronica called out with a laugh, "Hey! Catch!"

Two explosives sailed into the rooms and the women slammed the doors shut, holding them snug against the frames. The blasts shook the wood on its hinges and rattled the floor beneath them. Dropping a pair of landmines outside each entryway as they left, Jordan led her friend to the edge of the balcony before jumping over the railing into Brimstone.

Shouts erupted behind them as they fled through the hallways, making their way back towards the basement. When the sound of bullets began to fill the air, eating into the carpet and walls around them, they pushed harder.

Veronica let out a shriek as a round grazed the outer portion of her arm. The Omerta underlings were gaining on them. As they neared their last turn, Jordan ripped her last frag mines from the satchel at her hip. Rounding the corner with too much speed, the pair stumbled, slamming into the far wall before righting themselves and continuing on.

"Come on! Those cunts don't have anywhere to go!"

The shouting was growing closer as Veronica tore the door to the basement open and was shoved through it. Dropping the mines in the alcove outside the door, Jordan threw the door shut behind her before urging her friend onward.

They were safe within the confines of the Lucky 38, swearing and laughing, before the Omertas could disable the charges. The men swore revenge when they found their leadership splattered inside what used to be their offices. Yet when they began to compare notes, they realized they had no idea who the two women were who had done it.

/

"They're taking potshots at each other. Won't be long now," Cass said two days later.

Jordan grunted in agreement as she studied the dam through her own binoculars. The atmosphere was reaching a fever pitch and from the radio communications they had intercepted in the last few hours, the NCR was nervous. The lower rank and file had long since lost their faith, leaving the officers, both commissioned and not, to carry the mantle of tenacity.

A warm pressure found its way onto the side of Jordan's calf and upon inspection, she found a contented Rex sitting against her. She was reaching for his ear when Cass spoke up again.

"I got something I need to say and I don't think you're going to like it," she announced.

Jordan noticed the hard edge in her friend's voice, a byproduct of forced courage, but continued doting on the cyberdog at her feet. "Never stopped you before."

"Hn. Guess you're right." Cass nodded, more to herself than to the observation. "I don't think I'm gonna stay." Noting the look of shocked concern on the other redhead's face, she said, "Not like that. I'll be here for this," she waved a hand at the dam before them, "but I don't think I'm gonna stick around after."

"Why?"

Cass was silent for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. "I support what you're trying to do here, but I don't support _him_. I know you love him, but I won't live in a country where a goddamn wolf in sheep's clothing has power like that."

Jordan nodded in resignation. It was no secret to anyone that Cass hated Vulpes and refused to trust him. Boone's death had only shored up the woman's determination to never let him gain an inch of her respect. Stealing a glance over her shoulder towards their campsite, Jordan whispered, "Does Veronica know?"

"Not yet. I don't want her to be distracted tomorrow."

A mischievous grin tugged at Jordan's lips and crinkled her eyes. "You sure you're not leaving because he got you back?"

Cass scowled and smacked her friend's shoulder with the binoculars in her hand. During his recovery at the Lucky 38, Vulpes had realized one morning why the spare bedroom of the presidential suite was shut and locked. Slamming his fist into the door and shouting in panic that Cass needed to haul ass out of there, she had wrenched the door open wearing nothing but sweat and a bedsheet, her pistol clenched at her side.

" _What? What the fuck is going on?" she demanded._

 _Vulpes chuckled, grabbing at his ribs in amusement. "Just wanted to say hi." Leaning forward, he added loudly, "Good morning, Vero!"_

" _You bastard!" Cass seethed, her girlfriend laughing from the bed._

" _Relax!" Veronica giggled, tugging her tunic on over her head. "He's probably just getting you back for Jacobstown. Right?"_

 _At her suggestion, Vulpes gave a wink with his roguish smile before sauntering back to Jordan in the kitchen._

"No, I'm not leaving because of that," Cass ground out.

"If you say so."

* * *

 _A/N: A touch of fluff, the tying up of some loose ends, and some laughter at Cass's expense. One more to go! Happy Holidays!_


	31. November 15, 2281

Hey now, don't make a sound  
Say, have you heard the news today?  
One flag was taken down  
To raise another in its place  
\- Foo Fighters, "Long Road to Ruin"

"Grab those papers and throw the rest in the fire! And someone get my footlocker!"

Caesar was leaning over one of the long worktables in his tent, gathering documents and determining routes on a map. His bristling anger served to mask one very fine detail: he was nervous. For the first time in 34 years he was ordering a retreat and was himself falling back to a more secure location. The morning had started off well, with his troops advancing across the dam against the Republic, but with the arrival of what appeared to be combat securitrons and some kind of aerial assault the Legion had been forced back into their own camp. Every few minutes the NCR and Company drew closer and it wouldn't be long before the last drawbridge had fallen.

Half of the Praetorian Guard had left headquarters to put down an outbreak of violence near the carcer. Those who stayed behind were gathering personal and classified items from the tent for removal or destruction. In a few more moments, Caesar would be escorted to the Legate's camp via a hidden trail and from there they would regroup in the hills.

He was down, but he wasn't out and if it took another five or twenty years, he would find a way to make those worthless profligates atone. He would line the Long 15 with their carcasses and lay waste to every symbol of hope they had ever dreamt of knowing. His mother had chastised him during his youth for holding grudges, but he clung to them because they were harbingers of his justice and everyone paid.

Caesar was drawn from his preparations by the sight of Vulpes Inculta sweeping into the tent. The man had chosen the Second Battle of Hoover Dam to wear his gifted armor and his Lord was right. It looked exceptional on the Fox and he imagined NCR troopers pissing blood in his wake.

"You look damn fine, son," Caesar said. "Hell of a day to wear it, though."

The Frumentarius ignored the compliment, instead waving for Lucius to join them. "Take what's left of the Praetorians and go. I will follow with Caesar."

His brow began to furrow. "Are you certain? The gate is almost breached."

"Yes. Too large of a group will draw attention. Now go."

Lucius nodded and signaled for his men to head out, dumping a box of papers into a nearby fire pit before joining them. Giving a nod and a salute, he disappeared into the Fort.

"Excellent idea," Caesar commented, rolling up the last of his maps. "Grab my veteran armor and we'll go." Realizing that his subordinate did not move from his place, he paused in his packing. "Vulpes?"

The sound of a machete clattering across the packed dirt filled the air, punctuating the void that now lay between the two men. Turning away from the table, Caesar was taken aback by the sight before him. Mere feet away, Vulpes stood like a stone monument of visceral bitterness.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Setting myself free," Vulpes said, tightening the grip on his own machete.

Caesar tensed more than he thought possible when the Frumentarius's blade glinted in the sunlight. He could barely make it out, but there, near the base, was the faded etching of "Psalm 144:1."

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"I took a few liberties with my trip to Zion. Joshua asked that I remind you of Ezekiel 25:17, by the way."

Caesar's expression hardened. "Did he put you to this? Did he turn you against me?"

"No," Vulpes smirked. "It was your own hand that accomplished that feat."

"I don't understand."

The Fox took a moment to study his prey. Flushed skin, teeth grinding together, sweat on his brow. The man was sufficiently frightened. He tutted. "I was married once, did you know that?"

Caesar watched his once loyal right-hand and cursed the man. It was unnerving to see his treachery playing out in such a conversational, almost relaxed way. Too incensed and uncertain to speak, he elected to remain quiet.

"She was beautiful, intelligent. In fact, you considered her for yourself recently."

"The Courier?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes." The velvet of Vulpes's voice began to rip away, exposing the incisive steel beneath. "You forced me to scourge my own wife."

Caesar was beginning to see the honed rage swelling up under the surface. He had never married - never saw the point in it - but he had seen the lengths some profligates would go in the name of Venus. If he chose his words well, he might be able to return the younger man to the fold. Before he could speak, however, Vulpes continued.

"I tried to remain loyal to you. I tried so fucking hard, but all you've ever done is take and take and take. Have you ever had something taken from you, Edward?"

Caesar's eye twitched at the use of his birth name. He loathed it and found its use to be disrespectful. "Bring her with us. I'll grant her a pardon and-"

"No."

Silence drew out between them. Vulpes wasn't naïve enough to believe such a hollow promise. If Jordan was pardoned, they would live in peace for a number of months, just long enough for comfort to ease in. Then, on a starless night, their home would be besieged by a contubernium. He was would beaten and left for dead while his wife was torn from him once more, raped and murdered, her body left for vultures in the wastes. He knew, because Caesar had ordered the same once before, over another officer's insulting wife. At the flexing of his wrist, he began to hear Rex's barking in the distance. Time was running down.

"What could she give you that I can't? You have a home, a purpose in the Legion. Women, slaves, glory-"

"Free will."

"It's overrated."

"Says the tyrant who has it."

Caesar scoffed, "She has ruined you." This was not going in his favor and his hope was now morphing into insolence. His gaze hardened as Vulpes gestured to the machete at his feet.

"No, it was you who nearly did that. Defend yourself."

The aging commander swallowed hard as he bent to retrieve his weapon. It had been many years since he had had cause to wield a blade and he knew his skills paled in comparison to his opponent's. Moving them to the open center of the compound, Caesar knew his only chance of surviving would be pure luck, and he didn't believe in luck.

Wanting to catch Vulpes off-guard, he lunged forward, swinging madly. His attempt was rebuffed and he was sent tumbling forward, earning a slice to his cheek on the way. Righting himself, Caesar tried to recall the attacks and defenses he had taught so many in years past. Perhaps the tumor had damaged more than he realized before it was removed.

Vulpes waited for his former leader to gather himself. For a brief moment he had entertained the idea of allowing the man a glimmer of hope, of drawing out their combat so that when he at last dealt the killing blow, its cruelty would be that much sweeter. Yet now, hearing his wife's cyberdog draw closer still, he wished only to end it. The sooner the bastard was dead, the sooner he could go to her.

When Caesar lunged forward once more, Vulpes sidestepped and sliced through the tender flesh of his lower hamstring. He howled when the pain blazed through him a moment later and when he spun to face his opponent, his other leg was dealt a similar blow across the thigh.

Dropping to his knees, the grit of earth digging into his skin, Caesar cast his eyes upward. Looming above him, a machete drawn out to his side, was the very thing the Legion commander had feared for months.

"You feel betrayed, don't you?" Vulpes cooed. "Good."

Caesar spat into the dust, the sounds of his men being slaughtered outside catching his ear. "You'll pay for what you've done."

"Perhaps. But for this? I don't believe I will," he smiled. "Last words?"

"Fuck you."

/

Despite the November chill, Jordan was sweating under her armor. She'd opted to wear her riot gear that morning, without the duster, to better conceal her identity from the NCR. They may have had the same adversary, but General Oliver had never marched to the adage of making friends from enemies, not even for one day.

She had fallen in with a squad of veteran Rangers early in the engagement after overhearing that they were headed for the Legate's camp. They had taken an unconventional route through the fort, forcing openings in areas already weakened by the Boomers, and it had put them just ahead of the main body. After breaching the gate, Jordan pushed forward in the ranks, switching from her .45 to a gladius. From what Vulpes had told her, bullets would be pointless against the giant's armor.

When the squad reached the midpoint of the camp, Rangers broke off to strike at the Legionaries left to defend the area. Jordan seized the opportunity to head for the Legate's tent without interference. She wanted his blood on her hands and hers alone. The NCR would not be laying claim to that triumph.

Her feet pounding through the first bend of the makeshift stairs, Jordan glanced up and came to a full stop when a glimmer of light caught her eye. Standing like an immovable mountain, the Legate waited for her in the second turn.

"And who are you to come before me? You don't bear the mark of the Bear, yet are ready for battle."

A shiver passed without notice through Jordan. She was almost certain Lanius could stand eye-to-eye with Marcus and his voice sounded of brass horns blowing from the deep, heralding the arrival of a long-forgotten devil. Worried that her own voice might betray her, she instead unlatched her helmet and tossed it aside.

"Ah, _Courier_ ," he sneered. "The gift that escaped."

"Caesar wasn't brave enough to come take the Dam himself?" she asked with an air of amused nonchalance. His reminder of her previous status had only served to breathe new life into her courage.

"Caesar's will is made truth through me. I am a hammer against all that defy his rule. If you seek to stand against me, you shall fall as the West falls."

She smirked. "Do you mind if I take your helmet with me when we're done? Or is it a permanent installation?"

"I shall make a cape of your skin. And your skull – it shall sit by my side, mute, watching as my armies march West," he snarled. "Woman of the West, you will learn your place – in my tent, and again, when you beg for release on the edge of my blade."

"Come and get me then."

Lanius growled to himself. This woman was every bit as impertinent as he had heard. Vulpes would have enjoyed her, but he only wanted to break her. Jerking his bumper sword free from his back, he rushed down the hill towards her.

Jordan stepped back, repositioning herself in the first turn of the path, and loosened her shoulders. When the Legate's sword came hurtling down, she jumped back, swatting it away on the follow-through and slicing into the flesh of his knee. With his roar of pain, she retreated out of his reach.

Lanius advanced again, showering the woman with a flurry of strikes and swipes and forcing her further down the pathway. Bringing his blade above his head, he was surprised when she dove out of sight. When a moment later he felt the sting of steel carving its way through the exposed upper portion of his calf, he shouted out.

Jordan almost congratulated herself. It was becoming clear that he was not used to having people target the weak points of his armor, those little gaps left open for movement.

"Courier!" he thundered. The Legate was growing more frustrated by the minute. Though he appreciated a challenge, the Woman of the West should not have given him so much trouble. It was an insult to his mastery that he could not tolerate. Tearing his helmet from his head, he cast it aside and whirled to find an unprepared opponent. Intending to impale her thigh, but catching only her pant leg, Lanius pinned her in place with his blade.

Jordan struggled against the sword, trying to wiggle it free from the dirt or use it cut through her trousers. Seeing the shadow around her grow, she raised her eyes in horror. The Legate towered above her, blotting out the sun and laughing at her misfortune. With a chill, she realized the rest of the camp was devoid of sound. The Rangers had all moved on, no doubt deciding to let their enemies duke it out and reduce the workload for them. Jordan was alone and trapped. When immense hands grabbed hold of her breastplate and began to lift her from the sword, she panicked, slashing and kicking outward in the hopes of loosening his grip.

"Fool," he laughed.

Before Jordan could respond, she felt herself being thrown backward into a rock wall. Landing with a heavy thud on the hard earth below, she wheezed. Everything was beginning to hurt and she wondered if it was a mistake to face the Monster of the East without backup. She had not expected the Rangers to leave or for the rest of the NCR to be so far behind them. Rising onto her hands and knees, she pawed at her gladius and looked around. He had thrown her into the first bend of the stairs. If she could recover enough air for her lungs, she could take advantage of her new location.

Lanius limped his way towards the crumpled woman. He was going to enjoy the sheer terror he would elicit from people when they learned it was the Courier's skin that adorned him. Watching all of their hope drain out of them would be enough to give him a hard on. The crack of a bullet passing by and lodging into the rock face tore the Legate from his thoughts, however. On a ridge near the camp's gate, he could make out the figure of the would-be sniper.

"Vulpes!" Lanius bellowed in laughter. "Always trying to pilfer my kills! Your aim is as terrible as ever, I see!"

When he turned once more to the Courier, he was startled to find an empty patch of dirt. It wasn't until it was too late that he found her. Jordan leapt from the path above him, sinking her blade into the column of his neck and swinging her body out behind him. Dropping to the earth, she stepped back, uncertain of which way he would fall.

The Legate's knees hit the ground first, his torso swaying in place. The crunch of boots sounded behind him and he groaned when the woman removed her gladius from him. This was the end. Felled by a profligate whore on a battlefield that should have been his. Eyes drifting skyward, he wondered.

His thoughts never finished, the Courier's bullet providing the last act of violence in a life of war.

/

Winding his way through rocky chutes, Vulpes rushed towards the Legate's camp from its surrounding defenses. He knew it wasn't part of the plan, but he needed to confirm Jordan's well-being with more than a rifle scope before carrying on. Moving so rapidly that his feet began to slide across the graveled path of the camp's main enclosure, he felt a surge of relief pass through him when found her stooping to wipe the blood from her machete on the Legate's cape.

Observing Vulpes's hasty approach in armor she'd never seen, Jordan noted the watering of her mouth as she stood. There was no question she would be tearing it off of him later. In her mind's eye she could already see it littering the floor of the penthouse, a trail left from the elevator to the bed.

Sheathing her weapon, she called out, "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself that you were okay," he said, arriving in front of her and gripping her arms.

Jordan nodded, paying closer attention to his appearance. He was covered in sweat, blood, and grime, no doubt having had to fight his way through NCR troops to reach the ridgeline. She wasn't certain he had ever looked more virile, but the ebb and flow of adrenaline had always toyed with her libido.

"I am. Thanks for the assist."

Gunfire flared in the distance, breaking their focus. It wouldn't be long before General Oliver was marching his way in and delivering a self-saluting monologue. "You need to go," Jordan warned.

Vulpes grabbed the front of her armor and yanked her in for a searing kiss before whispering, "See you at home."

She watched his retreating figure for a moment before sprinting her way up the stairs towards the Legate's tent. She wanted to go through his belongings and hide away any useful intelligence in case her plans went up in flames. Once inside, Jordan couldn't say she was surprised by the lack of personal items, though she felt her stomach roll at the pile of mutilated bodies in a darkened corner.

Hiding a few inventory lists and troop movement reports, she exited the tent and made her way towards the giant mass of former Legion greatness lying in the dirt. Not far from him lay the bronze mask she had teased the Legate about. Retrieving it, Jordan strolled through the camp, making her way towards the gate. As she drew near, its metal planes shuddered opened.

In his excitement, Oliver did not bother to keep his voice lowered as he gloated to his men that her capture would make "two war criminals in one day." The news of Vulpes's apparent capture stung, but failed to rattle Jordan. As she had informed him days before, there were contingencies for that.

Slowing to a stop, Oliver noted the imposing helmet dangling at the Courier's side. So the reports were accurate. "Caesar on the cross, been a long time since I've seen the kind of work you've laid down today...a damn long time. And the screams of those Legion bastards as they kicked dirt running East - like a choir of angels to my ears. Speaking of - that crazy lightshow over the Fort, what the fuck was that? Some kind of thumb from God you called down? Amazing, fucking amazing. Could use a hundred of you. Just scatter you over the East like jacks, give those plumed fucks the what-for."

Jordan listened to the general's spiel with disinterest. She knew the compliments were empty lies designed to lower her guard. Even the casual observer would have heard the falseness in his tone. "Wait until you see my next trick," she smiled.

Oliver felt his skin crawl at the sound of securitrons rolling up behind him and his men. He'd seen them and their upgrades mowing down Legionaries and had been thankful their firepower wasn't aimed at the NCR. That good fortune appeared to have run out. "These, uh, these boys with you?" he stammered as two of the combat robots came to a rest beside the Courier. "Hello, there, smiley."

"General, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

He didn't appreciate her tone. "And just what would that be?" he asked, eyes shifting between the two smiling securitrons at her side. "Can you ask them to put their weapons down? Was just reaching in my coat to you a cigar."

"'Cigar' is a funny name for handcuffs, sir - and no, I won't." Jordan resisted the urge to smile at his soured expression. "Vulpes Inculta. You have him, I want him."

Oliver laughed at the demand. How she would have known that was beyond him, but she was a stupid little girl if she thought he'd accommodate her. "What makes you think I'd be dumb enough to hand over your lover boy?"

"And what makes _you_ think I would sink so low as to sleep with Legion filth?"

It was not the response Oliver expected. Her posture was commanding and her eyes betrayed her feelings of offense. Maybe their intel had been wrong? No, that couldn't be. The source was reliable and a close confidant of the Courier's. "The late Corporal Craig Boone – who I'm sure you remember well – spilled all of your dirty little secrets," he jabbed. "Including your sexual habits with the Frumentarius."

If he was counting on her to blush, stutter, or shrink away, Jordan was happy to disappoint. "Is that what that jet-addled wretch told you?" she chuckled. She could hate herself later for tearing down her friend's memory. It was a luxury that Vulpes's safety could not allow at the moment. "And you believed him?"

"He had no reason to lie!"

"Of course he did," Jordan said as though explaining a simple life lesson to a child. "When the chems meant more than I did, I dumped his ass in Novac and moved on. I can't say I blame him for trying to retaliate, but dragging the Republic into his own drama was a bit much. Wouldn't you agree?"

The heat rising in Oliver's cheeks threatened to burn him alive. So he'd been made a fool, then? Fine. The Courier was still going to leave that despicable Fort in NCR custody. Perhaps he could catch her in a lie, though. "What do you want with Inculta?"

"He has a debt to settle with me – one that he can only pay in blood, you see," Jordan smiled. "I've been after him for quite a while, but they don't call him the Fox for no reason."

Oliver shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he sneered. "If you think either of you are leaving here with your freedom then you're dumber than-" His words were cut off by the clap of a bullet kicking up the dirt inches from his toes. Stumbling back and landing on his behind, his Rangers clenched their weapons tighter and looked to the hills for the point of origin. "What the fuck was that?"

"How many cards do I have to show in order for you to understand that you've lost?" Jordan asked, crouching down to his level. "There are snipers in the hills and securitrons surrounding you. Give me my prisoner and I'll let you leave with all of your squishy bits intact."

"Fine!" he said before ordering one of his men to fulfill the Courier's demand. Maybe he could just kill both of them in one go, tell Kimball they'd died in the fighting. Turning back to her satisfied face, he yelled, "Who the fuck do you think you are? Looking to cash your chips to the sound of NCR bullets?"

Hatches opened on the shoulders of the securitrons, small mortar rounds sliding forward. The robots' AI appeared to be more protective of her than others would have anticipated.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Jordan asked. How much longer was this asshat going to keep pretending?

"I know you're riding high right now," he spat, "but let me tell you – you ain't pissing on me right now, you're pissing on the Bear. You been far enough West I'm guessing to know how far that claw reaches. Fuck with the Bear and-"

Again the general's speech was cut short as Vulpes was brought forth and shoved onto his knees, his hands bound behind his back. Jordan could see fresh scrapes and blood trails that had not been there thirty minutes prior. His nose appeared to have been rebroken as well. Rising to her full height, she said, "It's time for you to go, General."

He stood, dusting himself off and grumbling about being "suckered by some slip of a woman." Stepping in close, he said, "When the NCR comes at you - and it will - pray you're ready. I promise you, our situations reversed, I'd see you hang."

"I'll be waiting," Jordan said.

Oliver stepped away and motioned for his men to follow. Nearing the gate, he glanced over his shoulder, hoping for one last parting glare at the Courier. The sight of her being held up by Vulpes Inculta, her legs hugging his waist as laughter and kisses fell from their lips enraged the general. Punching the shoulder of a Ranger, he ordered the man to take them out.

Before the shot could be fired, a nearby securitron launched one of its miniature missiles at them, killing the Ranger and almost taking Oliver down with him. He could still hear the laughter of the Courier and her Fox as he hastened his retreat. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Tucked away in the hills above the camp, Veronica whooped and giggled, tension sliding away from her. They had done it. They had made it through the day. Beside her, Cass cringed into her rifle scope in disgust.

"Good God, get a fucking room," she grumbled.

* * *

 _A/N:_ First things first, I'm writing a sequel. I had not intended to do so originally, but my S.O./Beta kind of lobbied for it and after thinking it over, I'm not quite ready to let Jordan and Vulpes go yet. There's no title for it yet, but I have plotted most of it out and written the first chapter. It will be set some years after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. It will probably be a month or two before I start posting anything, though. I had planned on being further along than I am now, but holidays happened.

In the meantime, are there any one shots that you would like to see? Moments from the intervening years? Suggest something, and, if it stirs up a solid idea on my end, I just might write it.

 **Afterword**

Long Road to Ruin was borne out of a shitty time in my life. I had been unemployed for months when I got the bug to write. It was a way to channel the crushing rejection and depression that accompanies the inability to even get so much as an interview for 13 months. What started as therapy, though, eventually turned into, "Holy shit. Maybe I want to do this full-time?"

Initially I had started out writing a Boone/Courier story, but while I was brainstorming a scene where Vulpes gets into the 38 and threatens the Courier, I had a thought. What if those two knew each other from before the Legion - like, they'd been a couple or something? A few days later a skeletal plot for the story struck me while I was listening to "Long Road to Ruin" by the Foo Fighters. The Boone/Courier idea was promptly discarded and I never looked back. (I assure you, it would have been awful and terribly unoriginal had I carried on with it.)

I've read a lot of FNV fanfiction and I wanted my Courier to be my own. I didn't want her to have memory or intelligence problems (I mean, the brain is a super amazing organ and is capable of bouncing back from some insane shit), but being closed off felt right. She'd been through a lot in her life and had undergone a radical transformation because of it, yet at her core, she was still the same kind, witty person from Utah.

Vulpes, though...I never understood the fascination with him until I started writing him. In my mind, when I think of him now, he looks like a-hour's beautiful work of art, _Fallout NV: Vulpes Inculta_. If you haven't seen it, rush over to DeviantArt _rightthissecond_. He's amazing, broody, mysterious, angular, and just ugh. For his personality I tried to build off of what FNV gave us, but turning him more towards a brilliant man stuck in an unfortunate circumstance rather than the evil/slimy/disgustingly opportunistic individual I had so often seen. The idea of an Erwin Rommel-type came to mind and from there I found myself considering the idea of Tommy Shelby from _Peaky Blinders_ (played by the incredible Cillian Murphy and thus where Vulpes's English name was partially drawn from). And when he gets frustrated? A touch of Damon Salvatore comes out - all sass and dark humor.

Getting Vulpes from destroying Camp Searchlight and banging Caesar's concubine to betraying an empire took quite a bit of research and consideration, though. I questioned my S.O. for hours, going round and round with ideas and themes, trying to get at the meat of not only the male perspective, but the military perspective as well. I could not have written Vulpes at all without his help and I am deeply, eternally grateful.

The fight scenes were also impossible without the influence of my S.O. For every single one I relied on his experiences with martial arts and sword fighting. Some, such as the scene in The Thorn, were worked out step-by-step in our living room floor. Others were inspired by fights from Starz's _Spartacus_ or movies like _The Hunted_. Jordan's fight in this chapter was influenced by that super unfortunate bout between The Mountain and The Viper in _Game of Thrones_.

As for Boone, I drew a lot from various people I have known over the years - the self-loathing, the emotional fixations and transference, the just-this-once moments. I didn't intend for him to die, but as the story grew, I realized I couldn't stop him from dying. At least, not in a way that felt right or true to him. I mentioned in a comment in one chapter that I knew I could have fleshed him (and Felina) out a bit more, but I worried about straying too far from the story I was trying to tell. I still feel that way. But what's done is done.

I created Felina because I didn't want to have a love triangle. Both Jordan and Vulpes thought the other dead and had moved on with their lives as best they could. It made sense for there to be other people in the picture ten years later, even if neither of our heroes were fully invested in them. I decided to make Felina so young a) because it feeds into the creepy Legion culture factor and b) when we ladies are in our teen years, our hormones tend to do a lot of the thinking for us and that can lead to some pretty messy shit. Other characters and moments were inspired by various things. Crispus was a nod to _Spartacus_ 's Varro (played by Jai Courtney). Jordan's temporary blindness at Jacobstown came from my own inability to see when using Refresh PM (it's annoying af).

I spent a lot of time on Google maps and running through areas of FNV. I tried to take the landscape, Fiends, and various mutant creatures into account when determining a scene or amount of time required for travel. And I pulled tons of info from the Fallout Wikia. I know, I know. I probably went way too deep on this story, but I wanted to challenge myself and I wanted to get it right.

I know I mentioned at the beginning that I was unemployed when I started writing this. I eventually did get a job, but as it turns out, I _loathe_ it. The people are okay, but I'm a bit too Sherlockian to sit at a desk and twiddle my thumbs almost every day (read: "My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work!"). So I'll have plenty of time to space out and work my way through scenes.

I won't post anything until the story is written in its entirety. I can't because my mind does not work in a linear fashion and that makes story-telling (and joke-telling) a real pain in the ass. The first draft of Long Road to Ruin was just a handful of the major points of the story. I then went back in and added all the fun bits like Crispus, the Big MT, the escape from Fortification Hill, etc. The upside to all of this is that it means you'll get weekly updates when I do start posting the sequel.

As I mentioned before, let me know if there is something you'd like to see! Please feel free to ask questions, too, if I didn't cover something in here that you were curious about. It has been an absolute blast to share this experience with you and I cannot possibly thank you all enough.


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